“Dark, with moustaches.”

“It must be him.”

“Him—­who?”

“Why, Schegloff; him as has just gone by.”

“What’s he, this Schegloff?”

“What, she don’t know Schegloff?  Why, he ran twice from Siberia.  Now they’ve got him, but he’ll run away.  The warders themselves are afraid of him,” said Khoroshavka, who managed to exchange notes with the male prisoners and knew all that went on in the prison.  “He’ll run away, that’s flat.”

“If he does go away you and I’ll have to stay,” said Korableva, turning to Maslova, “but you’d better tell us now what the advocate says about petitioning.  Now’s the time to hand it in.”

Maslova answered that she knew nothing about it.

At that moment the red-haired woman came up to the “aristocracy” with both freckled hands in her thick hair, scratching her head with her nails.

“I’ll tell you all about it, Katerina,” she began.  “First and foremost, you’ll have to write down you’re dissatisfied with the sentence, then give notice to the Procureur.”

“What do you want here?” said Korableva angrily; “smell the vodka, do you?  Your chatter’s not wanted.  We know what to do without your advice.”

“No one’s speaking to you; what do you stick your nose in for?”

“It’s vodka you want; that’s why you come wriggling yourself in here.”

“Well, offer her some,” said Maslova, always ready to share anything she possessed with anybody.

“I’ll offer her something.”

“Come on then,” said the red-haired one, advancing towards Korableva.  “Ah! think I’m afraid of such as you?”

“Convict fright!”

“That’s her as says it.”

“Slut!”

“I?  A slut?  Convict!  Murderess!” screamed the red-haired one.

“Go away, I tell you,” said Korableva gloomily, but the red-haired one came nearer and Korableva struck her in the chest.  The red-haired woman seemed only to have waited for this, and with a sudden movement caught hold of Korableva’s hair with one hand and with the other struck her in the face.  Korableva seized this hand, and Maslova and Khoroshavka caught the red-haired woman by her arms, trying to pull her away, but she let go the old woman’s hair with her hand only to twist it round her fist.  Korableva, with her head bent to one side, was dealing out blows with one arm and trying to catch the red-haired woman’s hand with her teeth, while the rest of the women crowded round, screaming and trying to separate the fighters; even the consumptive one came up and stood coughing and watching the fight.  The children cried and huddled together.  The noise brought the woman warder and a jailer.  The fighting women were separated; and Korableva, taking out the bits of torn hair from her head, and the red-haired one, holding her torn chemise together over her yellow breast, began loudly to complain.

“I know, it’s all the vodka.  Wait a bit; I’ll tell the inspector tomorrow.  He’ll give it you.  Can’t I smell it?  Mind, get it all out of the way, or it will be the worse for you,” said the warder.  “We’ve no time to settle your disputes.  Get to your places and be quiet.”