Resurrection

From the Procureur Nekhludoff went straight to the preliminary

detention prison. However, no Maslova was to be found there, and

the inspector explained to Nekhludoff that she would probably be

in the old temporary prison. Nekhludoff went there.

Yes, Katerina Maslova was there.

The distance between the two prisons was enormous, and Nekhludoff

only reached the old prison towards evening. He was going up to

the door of the large, gloomy building, but the sentinel stopped

him and rang. A warder came in answer to the bell. Nekhludoff

showed him his order of admittance, but the warder said he could

not let him in without the inspector's permission. Nekhludoff

went to see the inspector. As he was going up the stairs he heard

distant sounds of some complicated bravura, played on the piano.

When a cross servant girl, with a bandaged eye, opened the door

to him, those sounds seemed to escape from the room and to strike

his car. It was a rhapsody of Liszt's, that everybody was tired

of, splendidly played but only to one point. When that point was

reached the same thing was repeated. Nekhludoff asked the

bandaged maid whether the inspector was in. She answered that he

was not in.

"Will he return soon?"

The rhapsody again stopped and recommenced loudly and brilliantly

again up to the same charmed point.

"I will go and ask," and the servant went away.

"Tell him he is not in and won't be to-day; he is out visiting.

What do they come bothering for?" came the sound of a woman's

voice from behind the door, and again the rhapsody rattled on and

stopped, and the sound of a chair pushed back was heard. It was

plain the irritated pianist meant to rebuke the tiresome visitor,

who had come at an untimely hour. "Papa is not in," a pale girl

with crimped hair said, crossly, coming out into the ante-room,

but, seeing a young man in a good coat, she softened.

"Come in, please. . . . What is it you want?"

"I want to see a prisoner in this prison."

"A political one, I suppose?"

"No, not a political one. I have a permission from the

Procureur."

"Well, I don't know, and papa is out; but come in, please," she

said, again, "or else speak to the assistant. He is in the office

at present; apply there. What is your name?"

"I thank you," said Nekhludoff, without answering her question,

and went out.

The door was not yet closed after him when the same lively tones

recommenced. In the courtyard Nekhludoff met an officer with

bristly moustaches, and asked for the assistant-inspector. It was

the assistant himself. He looked at the order of admittance, but

said that he could not decide to let him in with a pass for the

preliminary prison. Besides, it was too late. "Please to come

again to-morrow. To morrow, at 10, everybody is allowed to go in.

Come then, and the inspector himself will be at home. Then you

can have the interview either in the common room or, if the

inspector allows it, in the office."