Scarcely had Maslova arranged her hair when the inspector entered with his attendants.

“Make ready for inspection!” shouted the warden.

The women of the two cells formed in two rows along the corridor, those of the back row placing their hands on the shoulders of the women in the front row.  Then they were counted.

After the count came the woman inspector and led the prisoners to the church.  Maslova and Theodosia were in the middle of the column, which consisted of over a hundred women from all the cells.  They all had white ’kerchiefs on their heads, and some few wore their own colored dresses.  These were the wives and children of convicts.  The procession covered the whole stairway.  A soft clatter of prison shoes was heard, here and there some conversation, and sometimes laughter.  At a turn Maslova noticed the malicious face of her enemy, Bochkova, who was walking in the front row, and pointed her out to Theodosia.  At the foot of the stairs the women became silent, and, making the sign of the cross and bowing, they filed into the open door of the empty, gold-bedecked chapel.  Their place was on the right, where, crowding each other, they began to arrange themselves in rows, standing.  Behind the women came the male convicts who were serving terms or detained for transportation under sentence by the communities.  Loudly clearing their throats, they formed a dense crowd on the left and the middle of the chapel.  Above, on the gallery, were other convicts with heads half shaven, whose presence was manifested by a clanking of chains.

This prison chapel had been rebuilt and remodeled by a rich merchant, who had spent about thirty thousand rubles on it, and it was all ornamented with gilt and bright colors.

For a few seconds there was silence, which was broken only by the blowing of noses, coughing, and clanking of chains.  Suddenly the prisoners who stood in the middle began to press back, making a passage for the inspector, who walked to the middle of the chapel, and the services commenced.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Nekhludoff left the house early.  A peasant was driving along a side alley, shouting in a strange voice:  “Milk! milk! milk!”

The first warm, spring rain had fallen the evening before.  Wherever there was a patch of unpaved ground the green grass burst forth; the lindens were covered with green nap; the fowl-cherry and poplar unfolded their long, fragrant leaves.  In the market-place, through which Nekhludoff had to pass, dense crowds in rags swarmed before the tents, some carrying boots under their arms, others smoothly pressed trousers and vests on their shoulders.

The working people were already crowding near the traktirs (tea-houses), the men in clean, long coats gathered in folds in the back of the waist, and in shining boots; the women in bright-colored silk shawls and cloaks with glass-bead trimmings.  Policemen, with pistols attached to yellow cords fastened around their waists, stood at their posts.  Children and dogs played on the grass-plots, and gay nurses sat chatting on the benches.