“Is it true, sir, that 12 convicts have been done to death?” said a severe-looking old prisoner with a deep voice like a man’s.

It was Korableva.

“I did not hear of 12; I have seen two,” said Nekhludoff.

“They say there were 12 they killed.  And will nothing be done to them?  Only think!  The fiends!”

“And have none of the women fallen ill?” Nekhludoff asked.

“Women are stronger,” said another of the prisoners—­a short little woman, and laughed; “only there’s one that has taken it into her head to be delivered.  There she goes,” she said, pointing to the next carriage, whence proceeded the groans.

“You ask if we want anything,” said Maslova, trying to keep the smile of joy from her lips; “could not this woman be left behind. suffering as she is?  There, now, if you would tell the authorities.”

“Yes, I will.”

“And one thing more; could she not see her husband, Taras?” she added, pointing with her eyes to the smiling Theodosia.

“He is going with you, is he not?”

“Sir, you must not talk,” said a convoy sergeant, not the one who had let Nekhludoff come up.  Nekhludoff left the carriage and went in search of an official to whom he might speak for the woman in travail and about Taras, but could not find him, nor get an answer from any of the convoy for a long time.  They were all in a bustle; some were leading a prisoner somewhere or other, others running to get themselves provisions, some were placing their things in the carriages or attending on a lady who was going to accompany the convoy officer, and they answered Nekhludoff’s questions unwillingly.  Nekhludoff found the convoy officer only after the second bell had been rung.  The officer with his short arm was wiping the moustaches that covered his mouth and shrugging his shoulders, reproving the corporal for something or other.

“What is it you want?” he asked Nekhludoff.

“You’ve got a woman there who is being confined, so I thought best—­”

“Well, let her be confined; we shall see later on,” and briskly swinging his short arms, he ran up to his carriage.  At the moment the guard passed with a whistle in his hand, and from the people on the platform and from the women’s carriages there arose a sound of weeping and words of prayer.

Nekhludoff stood on the platform by the side of Taras, and looked how, one after the other, the carriages glided past him, with the shaved heads of the men at the grated windows.  Then the first of the women’s carriages came up, with women’s heads at the windows, some covered with kerchiefs and some uncovered, then the second, whence proceeded the same groans, then the carriage where Maslova was.  She stood with the others at the window, and looked at Nekhludoff with a pathetic smile.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

BROTHER AND SISTER.