He still knew, firmly and without any doubt, for he had it from God, that these people were just the same kind of people as he was, and like all other people, and therefore some one had done these people some wrong, something that ought not to have been done, and he was sorry for them, and felt no horror either of those who were shaved and chained or of those who had shaved and chained them.  And so the boy’s lips pouted more and more, and he made greater and greater efforts not to cry, thinking it a shame to cry in such a case.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE TENDER MERCIES OF THE LORD.

Nekhludoff kept up with the quick pace of the convicts.  Though lightly clothed he felt dreadfully hot, and it was hard to breathe in the stifling, motionless, burning air filled with dust.

When he had walked about a quarter of a mile he again got into the trap, but it felt still hotter in the middle of the street.  He tried to recall last night’s conversation with his brother-in-law, but the recollections no longer excited him as they had done in the morning.  They were dulled by the impressions made by the starting and procession of the gang, and chiefly by the intolerable heat.

On the pavement, in the shade of some trees overhanging a fence, he saw two schoolboys standing over a kneeling man who sold ices.  One of the boys was already sucking a pink spoon and enjoying his ices, the other was waiting for a glass that was being filled with something yellowish.

“Where could I get a drink?” Nekhludoff asked his isvostchik, feeling an insurmountable desire for some refreshment.

“There is a good eating-house close by,” the isvostchik answered, and turning a corner, drove up to a door with a large signboard.  The plump clerk in a Russian shirt, who stood behind the counter, and the waiters in their once white clothing who sat at the tables (there being hardly any customers) looked with curiosity at the unusual visitor and offered him their services.  Nekhludoff asked for a bottle of seltzer water and sat down some way from the window at a small table covered with a dirty cloth.  Two men sat at another table with tea-things and a white bottle in front of them, mopping their foreheads, and calculating something in a friendly manner.  One of them was dark and bald, and had just such a border of hair at the back as Rogozhinsky.  This sight again reminded Nekhludoff of yesterday’s talk with his brother-in-law and his wish to see him and Nathalie.

“I shall hardly be able to do it before the train starts,” he thought; “I’d better write.”  He asked for paper, an envelope, and a stamp, and as he was sipping the cool, effervescent water he considered what he should say.  But his thoughts wandered, and he could not manage to compose a letter.