When Nekhludoff arrived at the prison, the formal delivery and acceptance of the departing convicts, which began at four in the morning, were still going on.  The party consisted of six hundred and twenty-three men and sixty-four women; all had to be counted, the weak and sick had to be separated, and they were to be delivered to the convoy.  The new inspector, two assistants, a physician, his assistant, the officer of the convoy and a clerk were sitting in the shade around a table with papers and documents, calling and examining each convict and making entries in their books.

One-half of the table was already exposed to the sun.  It was getting warm and close from want of air, and from the breathing of the convicts standing near by.

“Will there ever be an end?” said a tall, stout, red-faced captain of the convoy, incessantly smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke through the moustache which covered his mouth.  “I am exhausted.  Where have you taken so many?  How many more are there?”

The clerk consulted the books.

“Twenty-four men and the women.”

“Why are you standing there?  Come forward!” shouted the captain to the crowding convicts.

The convicts had already been standing three hours in a broiling sun, waiting their turn.

All this was taking place in the court-yard of the prison, while without the prison stood the usual armed soldier, about two dozen trucks for the baggage, and the infirm convicts, and on the corner a crowd of relatives and friends of the convicts, waiting for a chance to see the exiles as they emerged from the prison, and, if possible, to have a last few words with them, or deliver some things they had brought for them.  Nekhludoff joined this crowd.

He stood there about an hour.  At the end of the hour, from behind the gates came the clatter of chains, the tramping of feet, voices of command, coughing and the low conversation of a large crowd.  This lasted about five minutes, during which time prison officers flitted in and out through the wicket.  Finally there was heard a sharp command.

The gates were noisily flung open, the clatter of the chains became more distinct, and a detachment of guardsmen in white blouses and shouldering guns marched forth and arranged themselves, evidently as a customary manoeuvre, in a large semi-circle before the gates.  Again a command was heard, and the hard-labor convicts, in pairs, began to pour out.  With pancake-shaped caps on their shaved heads, and sacks on their shoulders, they dragged their fettered legs, holding up the sacks with one hand and waving the other.  First came the men convicts, all in gray trousers and long coats with diamond aces on their backs.  All of them—­young, old, slim, stout, pale, and red-faced, dark-haired, moustached, bearded and beardless, Russians, Tartars, Jews—­came, clanging their chains and briskly waving their hands as though going on a long journey; but after making