At that moment the inner door opened and Petroff, flushed and perspiring, came out.

“He will remember it,” he said, turning to the sergeant-major.

The latter pointed with his eyes to Nekhludoff, and Petroff became silent, frowned and walked out through the rear door.

“Who will remember?  What?  Why are they all so embarrassed?  Why did the sergeant make that sign?” thought Nekhludoff.

“You cannot wait here; please walk into the office,” the sergeant-major turned to Nekhludoff, who was about to go out when the inspector came in through the inner door, more embarrassed even than his assistants.  He was sighing incessantly.  Seeing Nekhludoff, he turned to the warden: 

“Fedotoff, call Maslova.”

“Follow me, please,” he said to Nekhludoff.  They passed up a winding stairway leading into a small room with one window and containing a writing table and a few chairs.  The inspector sat down.

“Mine are disagreeable duties,” he said, turning to Nekhludoff and lighting a thick cigarette.

“You seem tired,” said Nekhludoff.

“I am very tired of all this business; my duties are very onerous.  I am trying my best to alleviate the condition of the prisoners and things are getting only worse.  I am very anxious to get away from here; the duties are very, very unpleasant.”

Nekhludoff could not understand what it was that made it so unpleasant for the inspector, but to-day he noticed on the inspector’s face an expression of despondency and hopelessness which was pitiful to behold.

“Yes, I think they are very trying,” he said.  “But why do you not resign?”

“I have a family and am without means.”

“But if it is difficult——­”

“Well, you see, I manage to improve somewhat their lot after all.  Another one in my place would hardly exert himself as I do.  It is no easy matter to handle two thousand people.  They are also human and one feels pity for them, and yet they can’t be allowed to have all their own way.”

And the inspector related the case of a recent fight among the prisoners which ended in murder.

His story was interrupted by the entrance of Maslova, who was preceded by the warden.

Nekhludoff got sight of her when she appeared on the threshold and before she saw the inspector.  Her face was red, and she walked briskly behind the warden, smiling and shaking her head.  Noticing the inspector she gazed at him with frightened face, but immediately recovered herself and boldly and cheerfully turned to Nekhludoff.

“How do you do?” she said, drawlingly, smiling and vigorously shaking his hand, not as on the former occasion.

“Here I have brought you the petition to sign,” said Nekhludoff, somewhat surprised at the forward manner in which she accosted him.  “The lawyer wrote it.  It must be signed and sent to St. Petersburg.”

“Why, certainly.  I will do anything,” she said, winking one eye and smiling.