“They are furnished books on spiritual topics, also old journals.  We have a library of suitable books, but they seldom read them.  At first they appear to be interested, and then it is found that the pages of all the new books are barely half cut, and of the old ones there is no evidence of any thumb-marks at all.  We even tried,” with a remote semblance of a smile the general continued, “to put a piece of paper between the pages, and it remained untouched.  Writing, too, is allowed.  A slate is given them, also a slate-pencil, so that they may write for diversion.  They can wipe it out and write again.  And yet they don’t write.  No, they become quiet very soon.  At first they are uneasy, but afterward they even grow stout and become very quiet.”

Nekhludoff listened to the hoarse, feeble voice; looked on that fleshless body, those faded eyes under the gray eyebrows, those sunken, shaved cheeks, supported by a military collar, that white cross, and understood that to argue and explain to him the meaning of those words were futile.  But, making another effort, he asked him about the prisoner, Shustova, whose release, he had received information, had been ordered, through the efforts of Mariette.

“Shustova?  Shustova—­I don’t remember them all by name.  There are so many of them,” he said, evidently reproving them for being so numerous.  He rang the bell and called for the secretary.

While a servant was going after the secretary he admonished Nekhludoff to go into service, saying that the country was in need of honest, noble men.

“I am old, and yet I am serving to the extent of my ability.”

The secretary came and reported that there were no papers received relating to Shustova, who was still in prison.

“As soon as we receive an order we release them the very same day.  We do not keep them; we do not particularly value their presence,” said the general, again with a waggish smile, which had the effect only of making his face wry.

“Good-by, my dear,” he continued.  “Don’t be offended for advising you, for I do so only because I love you.  Have nothing to do with the prisoners.  You will never find innocent people among them.  They are the most immoral set.  We know them,” he said, in a tone of voice which did not permit the possibility of doubt.  “You had better take an office.  The Emperor and the country need honest people.  What if I and such as you refused to serve?  Who would be left?  We are complaining of conditions, but refuse to aid the government.”

Nekhludoff sighed deeply, made a low bow, pressed the bony hand condescendingly extended, and departed.

The general disapprovingly shook his head, and, rubbing his loins, went to the reception-room, where the artist awaited him with the answer of Jeanne D’Arc.  The general put on his pince-nez and read:  “They will recognize each other by the light issuing from the ethereal bodies.”