“Do thy business and leave them alone.  Every one for himself.  God knows whom to execute, whom to forgive, and we do not know,” said the old man.  “Every man be his own chief, then the chiefs will not be wanted.  Go, go!” he added, angrily frowning and looking with glittering eyes at Nekhludoff, who lingered in the cell.  “Hast thou not looked on long enough how the servants of Antichrist feed lice on men?  Go, go!”

When Nekhludoff went out he saw the Englishman standing by the open door of an empty cell with the inspector, asking what the cell was for.  The inspector explained that it was the mortuary.

“Oh,” said the Englishman when Nekhludoff had translated, and expressed the wish to go in.

The mortuary was an ordinary cell, not very large.  A small lamp hung on the wall and dimly lit up sacks and logs of wood that were piled up in one corner, and four dead bodies lay on the bedshelves to the right.  The first body had a coarse linen shirt and trousers on; it was that of a tall man with a small beard and half his head shaved.  The body was quite rigid; the bluish hands, that had evidently been folded on the breast, had separated; the legs were also apart and the bare feet were sticking out.  Next to him lay a bare-footed old woman in a white petticoat, her head, with its thin plait of hair, uncovered, with a little, pinched yellow face and a sharp nose.  Beyond her was another man with something lilac on.  This colour reminded Nekhludoff of something.  He came nearer and looked at the body.  The small, pointed beard sticking upwards, the firm, well-shaped nose, the high, white forehead, the thin, curly hair; he recognised the familiar features and could hardly believe his eyes.  Yesterday he had seen this face, angry, excited, and full of suffering; now it was quiet, motionless, and terribly beautiful.  Yes, it was Kryltzoff, or at any rate the trace that his material existence had left behind.  “Why had he suffered?  Why had he lived?  Does he now understand?” Nekhludoff thought, and there seemed to be no answer, seemed to be nothing but death, and he felt faint.  Without taking leave of the Englishman, Nekhludoff asked the inspector to lead him out into the yard, and feeling the absolute necessity of being alone to think over all that had happened that evening, he drove back to his hotel.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A NEW LIFE DAWNS FOR NEKHLUDOFF.

Nekhludoff did not go to bed, but went up and down his room for a long time.  His business with Katusha was at an end.  He was not wanted, and this made him sad and ashamed.  His other business was not only unfinished, but troubled him more than ever and demanded his activity.  All this horrible evil that he had seen and learned to know lately, and especially to-day in that awful prison, this evil, which had killed that dear Kryltzoff, ruled and was triumphant, and he could foreseen possibility of conquering or