Resurrection

"Why--don't they admit us yet?" asked Nekhludoff.

"The service is going on. When the mass is over, you'll be

admitted."

Nekhludoff stepped aside from the waiting crowd. A man in

tattered clothes, crumpled hat, with bare feet and red stripes

all over his face, detached himself from the crowd, and turned

towards the prison.

"Now, then, where are you going?" shouted the sentinel with the

gun.

"And you hold your row," answered the tramp, not in the least

abashed by the sentinel's words, and turned back. "Well, if

you'll not let me in, I'll wait. But, no! Must needs shout, as if

he were a general."

The crowd laughed approvingly. The visitors were, for the greater

part, badly-dressed people; some were ragged, but there were also

some respectable-looking men and women. Next to Nekhludoff stood

a clean-shaven, stout, and red-cheeked man, holding a bundle,

apparently containing under-garments. This was the doorkeeper of

a bank; he had come to see his brother, who was arrested for

forgery. The good-natured fellow told Nekhludoff the whole story

of his life, and was going to question him in turn, when their

attention was aroused by a student and a veiled lady, who drove

up in a trap, with rubber tyres, drawn by a large thoroughbred

horse. The student was holding a large bundle. He came up to

Nekhludoff, and asked if and how he could give the rolls he had

brought in alms to the prisoners. His fiancee wished it (this

lady was his fiancee), and her parents had advised them to take

some rolls to the prisoners.

"I myself am here for the first time," said Nekhludoff, "and

don't know; but I think you had better ask this man," and he

pointed to the warder with the gold cords and the book, sitting

on the right.

As they were speaking, the large iron door with a window in it

opened, and an officer in uniform, followed by another warder,

stepped out. The warder with the notebook proclaimed that the

admittance of visitors would now commence. The sentinel stepped

aside, and all the visitors rushed to the door as if afraid of

being too late; some even ran. At the door there stood a warder

who counted the visitors as they came in, saying aloud, 16, 17,

and so on. Another warder stood inside the building and also

counted the visitors as they entered a second door, touching each

one with his hand, so that when they went away again not one

visitor should be able to remain inside the prison and not one

prisoner might get out. The warder, without looking at whom he

was touching, slapped Nekhludoff on the back, and Nekhludoff felt

hurt by the touch of the warder's hand; but, remembering what he

had come about, he felt ashamed of feeling dissatisfied and

taking offence.