“I have been talking with auntie, dear, and we thought that they might discharge you at once.  They say it happens.  And they sometimes give you money, if you strike the right time,” the watch-woman started in a singing voice.  “What ill-luck!  It seems we were wrong.  God has His own way, dear,” she went on in her caressing and melodious voice.

“It is possible that they convicted you?” asked Theodosia, with gentle compassion, looking at Maslova with her childish, light-blue eyes, and her cheerful, young face changed, and she seemed to be ready to cry.

Maslova made no answer, but silently went to her place, next to Korableva’s, and sat down.

“You have probably not eaten anything,” said Theodosia, rising and going over to Maslova.

Again Maslova did not answer, but placed the two lunch-rolls at the head of the cot and began to undress.  She took off the dusty coat, and the ’kerchief from her curling black hair and sat down.

The hunch-backed old woman also came and stopped in front of Maslova, compassionately shaking her head.

The boy came behind the old woman, and, with a protruding corner of the upper lip and wide-open eyes, gazed on the rolls brought by Maslova.  Seeing all these compassionate faces, after what had happened, Maslova almost cried and her lips began to twitch.  She tried to and did restrain herself until the old woman and the child approached.  When, however, she heard the kind, compassionate exclamation of pity from the old woman, and, especially, when her eyes met the serious eyes of the boy who looked now at her, now at the rolls, she could restrain herself no longer.  Her whole face began to twitch and she burst into sobs.

“I told her to take a good lawyer,” said Korableva.  “Well?  To Siberia?” she asked.

Maslova wished to answer but could not, and, crying, she produced from the roll the box of cigarettes, on which a picture of a red lady with a high chignon and triangle-shaped, low cut neck was printed, and gave it to Korableva.  The latter looked at the picture, disapprovingly shook her head, chiefly because Maslova spent money so foolishly, and, lighting a cigarette over the lamp, inhaled the smoke several times, then thrust it at Maslova.  Maslova, without ceasing to cry, eagerly began to inhale the smoke.

“Penal servitude,” she murmured, sobbing.

“They have no fear of God, these cursed blood-suckers!” said Korableva.  “They have condemned an innocent girl.”

At this moment there was a loud outburst of laughter among those standing near the window.  The delicate laughter of the little girl mingled with the hoarse and shrill laughter of the women.  This merriment was caused by some act of a prisoner without.

“Oh, the scoundrel!  See what he is doing!” said the red-headed woman, pressing her face against the grating, her whole massive frame shaking.

“What is that drum-hide shouting about?” said Korableva, shaking her head at the red-haired woman, and then again turning to Maslova.  “How many years?”