put out the light, and began destroying the things that might incriminate them.  The police forced their way in, and one of the conspirators fired, and mortally wounded a gendarme.  When an inquiry was instituted, this girl said that it was she who had fired, although she had never had a revolver in her hands, and would not have hurt a fly.  And she kept to it, and was now condemned to penal servitude in Siberia.

“An altruistic, fine character,” said Vera Doukhova, approvingly.

The third business that Vera Doukhova wanted to talk about concerned Maslova.  She knew, as everybody does know in prison, the story of Maslova’s life and his connection with her, and advised him to take steps to get her removed into the political prisoner’s ward, or into the hospital to help to nurse the sick, of which there were very many at that time, so that extra nurses were needed.

Nekhludoff thanked her for the advice, and said he would try to act upon it.

CHAPTER LVI.

NEKHLUDOFF AND THE PRISONERS.

Their conversation was interrupted by the inspector, who said that the time was up, and the prisoners and their friends must part.  Nekhludoff took leave of Vera Doukhova and went to the door, where he stopped to watch what was going on.

The inspector’s order called forth only heightened animation among the prisoners in the room, but no one seemed to think of going.  Some rose and continued to talk standing, some went on talking without rising.  A few began crying and taking leave of each other.  The mother and her consumptive son seemed especially pathetic.  The young fellow kept twisting his bit of paper and his face seemed angry, so great were his efforts not to be infected by his mother’s emotion.  The mother, hearing that it was time to part, put her head on his shoulder and sobbed and sniffed aloud.

The girl with the prominent eyes—­Nekhludoff could not help watching her—­was standing opposite the sobbing mother, and was saying something to her in a soothing tone.  The old man with the blue spectacles stood holding his daughter’s hand and nodding in answer to what she said.  The young lovers rose, and, holding each other’s hands, looked silently into one another’s eyes.

“These are the only two who are merry,” said a young man with a short coat who stood by Nekhludoff’s side, also looking at those who were about to part, and pointed to the lovers.  Feeling Nekhludoff’s and the young man’s eyes fixed on them, the lovers—­ the young man with the rubber coat and the pretty girl—­stretched out their arms, and with their hands clasped in each other’s, danced round and round again.  “To-night they are going to be married here in prison, and she will follow him to Siberia,” said the young man.

“What is he?”

“A convict, condemned to penal servitude.  Let those two at least have a little joy, or else it is too painful,” the young man added, listening to the sobs of the consumptive lad’s mother.