“What has happened to you?” asked Nekhludoff.

“Yes, something did happen,” Taras said, with a smile.

“All because of the woman,” added a prisoner, who followed Taras; “he’s had a row with Blind Fedka.”

“And how’s Theodosia?”

“She’s all right.  Here I am bringing her the water for her tea,” Taras answered, and went into the family room.

Nekhludoff looked in at the door.  The room was crowded with women and men, some of whom were on and some under the bedsteads; it was full of steam from the wet clothes that were drying, and the chatter of women’s voices was unceasing.  The next door led into the bachelors’ room.  This room was still more crowded; even the doorway and the passage in front of it were blocked by a noisy crowd of men, in wet garments, busy doing or deciding something or other.

The convoy sergeant explained that it was the prisoner appointed to buy provisions, paying off out of the food money what was owing to a sharper who had won from or lent money to the prisoners, and receiving back little tickets made of playing cards.  When they saw the convoy soldier and a gentleman, those who were nearest became silent, and followed them with looks of ill-will.  Among them Nekhludoff noticed the criminal Fedoroff, whom he knew, and who always kept a miserable lad with a swelled appearance and raised eyebrows beside him, and also a disgusting, noseless, pock-marked tramp, who was notorious among the prisoners because he killed his comrade in the marshes while trying to escape, and had, as it was rumoured, fed on his flesh.  The tramp stood in the passage with his wet cloak thrown over one shoulder, looking mockingly and boldly at Nekhludoff, and did not move out of the way.  Nekhludoff passed him by.

Though this kind of scene had now become quite familiar to him, though he had during the last three months seen these four hundred criminal prisoners over and over again in many different circumstances; in the heat, enveloped in clouds of dust which they raised as they dragged their chained feet along the road, and at the resting places by the way, where the most horrible scenes of barefaced debauchery had occurred, yet every time he came among them, and felt their attention fixed upon him as it was now, shame and consciousness of his sin against them tormented him.  To this sense of shame and guilt was added an unconquerable feeling of loathing and horror.  He knew that, placed in a position such as theirs, they could not be other than they were, and yet he was unable to stifle his disgust.

“It’s well for them do-nothings,” Nekhludoff heard some one say in a hoarse voice as he approached the room of the political prisoners.  Then followed a word of obscene abuse, and spiteful, mocking laughter.

CHAPTER X.

MAKAR DEVKIN.

When they had passed the bachelors’ room the sergeant who accompanied Nekhludoff left him, promising to come for him before the inspection would take place.  As soon as the sergeant was gone a prisoner, quickly stepping with his bare feet and holding up the chains, came close up to Nekhludoff, enveloping him in the strong, acid smell of perspiration, and said in a mysterious whisper: