and on the newly-revived grass, children and dogs ran about, playing, and the nurses sat merrily chattering on the benches.  Along the streets, still fresh and damp on the shady side, but dry in the middle, heavy carts rumbled unceasingly, cabs rattled and tramcars passed ringing by.  The air vibrated with the pealing and clanging of church bells, that were calling the people to attend to a service like that which was now being conducted in the prison.  And the people, dressed in their Sunday best, were passing on their way to their different parish churches.

The isvostchik did not drive Nekhludoff up to the prison itself, but to the last turning that led to the prison.

Several persons—­men and women—­most of them carrying small bundles, stood at this turning, about 100 steps from the prison.  To the right there were several low wooden buildings; to the left, a two-storeyed house with a signboard.  The huge brick building, the prison proper, was just in front, and the visitors were not allowed to come up to it.  A sentinel was pacing up and down in front of it, and shouted at any one who tried to pass him.

At the gate of the wooden buildings, to the right, opposite the sentinel, sat a warder on a bench, dressed in uniform, with gold cords, a notebook in his hands.  The visitors came up to him, and named the persons they wanted to see, and he put the names down.  Nekhludoff also went up, and named Katerina Maslova.  The warder wrote down the name.

“Why—­don’t they admit us yet?” asked Nekhludoff.

“The service is going on.  When the mass is over, you’ll be admitted.”

Nekhludoff stepped aside from the waiting crowd.  A man in tattered clothes, crumpled hat, with bare feet and red stripes all over his face, detached himself from the crowd, and turned towards the prison.

“Now, then, where are you going?” shouted the sentinel with the gun.

“And you hold your row,” answered the tramp, not in the least abashed by the sentinel’s words, and turned back.  “Well, if you’ll not let me in, I’ll wait.  But, no!  Must needs shout, as if he were a general.”

The crowd laughed approvingly.  The visitors were, for the greater part, badly-dressed people; some were ragged, but there were also some respectable-looking men and women.  Next to Nekhludoff stood a clean-shaven, stout, and red-cheeked man, holding a bundle, apparently containing under-garments.  This was the doorkeeper of a bank; he had come to see his brother, who was arrested for forgery.  The good-natured fellow told Nekhludoff the whole story of his life, and was going to question him in turn, when their attention was aroused by a student and a veiled lady, who drove up in a trap, with rubber tyres, drawn by a large thoroughbred horse.  The student was holding a large bundle.  He came up to Nekhludoff, and asked if and how he could give the rolls he had brought in alms to the prisoners.  His fiancee wished it (this lady was his fiancee), and her parents had advised them to take some rolls to the prisoners.