The whole time he was lying in the gutter Stepan saw continually before his eyes the thin, kindly, and frightened face of Maria Semenovna, and seemed to hear her voice.  “How can you?” she went on saying in his imagination, with her peculiar lisping voice.  Stepan saw over again and over again before him all he had done to her.  In horror he shut his eyes, and shook his hairy head, to drive away these thoughts and recollections.  For a moment he would get rid of them, but in their place horrid black faces with red eyes appeared and frightened him continuously.  They grinned at him, and kept repeating, “Now you have done away with her you must do away with yourself, or we will not leave you alone.”  He opened his eyes, and again he saw her and heard her voice; and felt an immense pity for her and a deep horror and disgust with himself.  Once more he shut his eyes, and the black faces reappeared.  Towards the evening of the next day he rose and went, with hardly any strength left, to a public-house.  There he ordered a drink, and repeated his demands over and over again, but no quantity of liquor could make him intoxicated.  He was sitting at a table, and swallowed silently one glass after another.

A police officer came in.  “Who are you?” he asked Stepan.

“I am the man who murdered all the Dobrotvorov people last night,” he answered.

He was arrested, bound with ropes, and brought to the nearest police-station; the next day he was transferred to the prison in the town.  The inspector of the prison recognised him as an old inmate, and a very turbulent one; and, hearing that he had now become a real criminal, accosted him very harshly.

“You had better be quiet here,” he said in a hoarse voice, frowning, and protruding his lower jaw.  “The moment you don’t behave, I’ll flog you to death!  Don’t try to escape—­I will see to that!”

“I have no desire to escape,” said Stepan, dropping his eyes.  “I surrendered of my own free will.”

“Shut up!  You must look straight into your superior’s eyes when you talk to him,” cried the inspector, and struck Stepan with his fist under the jaw.

At that moment Stepan again saw the murdered woman before him, and heard her voice; he did not pay attention, therefore, to the inspector’s words.

“What?” he asked, coming to his senses when he felt the blow on his face.

“Be off!  Don’t pretend you don’t hear.”

The inspector expected Stepan to be violent, to talk to the other prisoners, to make attempts to escape from prison.  But nothing of the kind ever happened.  Whenever the guard or the inspector himself looked into his cell through the hole in the door, they saw Stepan sitting on a bag filled with straw, holding his head with his hands and whispering to himself.  On being brought before the examining magistrate charged with the inquiry into his case, he did not behave like an ordinary convict.  He was very absent-minded,