But her seven-year-old daughter stood in her little chemise, her flaxen hair done up in a little pigtail, her blue eyes fixed, and, holding the red-haired woman by the skirt, attentively listened to the words of abuse that the women and the convicts flung at each other, and repeated them softly, as if learning them by heart.  The twelfth prisoner, who paid no attention to what was going on, was a very tall, stately girl, the daughter of a deacon, who had drowned her baby in a well.  She went about with bare feet, wearing only a dirty chemise.  The thick, short plait of her fair hair had come undone and hung down dishevelled, and she paced up and down the free space of the cell, not looking at any one, turning abruptly every time she came up to the wall.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE PRISONERS.

When the padlock rattled and the door opened to let Maslova into the cell, all turned towards her.  Even the deacon’s daughter stopped for a moment and looked at her with lifted brows before resuming her steady striding up and down.

Korableva stuck her needle into the brown sacking and looked questioningly at Maslova through her spectacles.  “Eh, eh, deary me, so you have come back.  And I felt sure they’d acquit you.  So you’ve got it?” She took off her spectacles and put her work down beside her on the shelf bed.

“And here have I and the old lady been saying, ’Why, it may well be they’ll let her go free at once.’  Why, it happens, ducky, they’ll even give you a heap of money sometimes, that’s sure,” the watchman’s wife began, in her singing voice:  “Yes, we were wondering, ‘Why’s she so long?’ And now just see what it is.  Well, our guessing was no use.  The Lord willed otherwise,” she went on in musical tones.

“Is it possible?  Have they sentenced you?” asked Theodosia, with concern, looking at Maslova with her bright blue, child-like eyes; and her merry young face changed as if she were going to cry.

Maslova did not answer, but went on to her place, the second from the end, and sat down beside Korableva.

“Have you eaten anything?” said Theodosia, rising and coming up to Maslova.

Maslova gave no reply, but putting the rolls on the bedstead, took off her dusty cloak, the kerchief off her curly black head, and began pulling off her shoes.  The old woman who had been playing with the boy came up and stood in front of Maslova.  “Tz, tz, tz,” she clicked with her tongue, shaking her head pityingly.  The boy also came up with her, and, putting out his upper lip, stared with wide open eyes at the roll Maslova had brought.  When Maslova saw the sympathetic faces of her fellow-prisoners, her lips trembled and she felt inclined to cry, but she succeeded in restraining herself until the old woman and the boy came up.  When she heard the kind, pitying clicking of the old woman’s tongue, and met the boy’s serious eyes turned from the roll to her face, she could bear it no longer; her face quivered and she burst into sobs.