Nekhludoff had to wait in the hall for a long time. When he had
arrived at the prison and rung at the entrance door, he handed
the permission of the Procureur to the jailer on duty who met
him.
"No, no," the jailer on duty said hurriedly, "the inspector is
engaged."
"In the office?" asked Nekhludoff.
"No, here in the interviewing-room.".
"Why, is it a visiting day to-day?"
"No; it's special business."
"I should like to see him. What am I to do?" said Nekhludoff.
"When the inspector comes out you'll tell him--wait a bit," said
the jailer.
At this moment a sergeant-major, with a smooth, shiny face and
moustaches impregnated with tobacco smoke, came out of a side
door, with the gold cords of his uniform glistening, and
addressed the jailer in a severe tone.
"What do you mean by letting any one in here? The office. . . ."
"I was told the inspector was here," said Nekhludoff, surprised
at the agitation he noticed in the sergeant-major's manner.
At this moment the inner door opened, and Petrov came out, heated
and perspiring.
"He'll remember it," he muttered, turning to the sergeant major.
The latter pointed at Nekhludoff by a look, and Petrov knitted
his brows and went out through a door at the back.
"Who will remember it? Why do they all seem so confused? Why did
the sergeant-major make a sign to him?" Nekhludoff thought.
The sergeant-major, again addressing Nekhludoff, said: "You
cannot meet here; please step across to the office." And
Nekhludoff was about to comply when the inspector came out of the
door at the back, looking even more confused than his
subordinates, and sighing continually. When he saw Nekhludoff he
turned to the jailer.
"Fedotoff, have Maslova, cell 5, women's ward, taken to the
office."
"Will you come this way, please," he said, turning to Nekhludoff.
They ascended a steep staircase and entered a little room with
one window, a writing-table, and a few chairs in it. The
inspector sat down.
"Mine are heavy, heavy duties," he remarked, again addressing
Nekhludoff, and took out a cigarette.
"You are tired, evidently," said Nekhludoff.
"Tired of the whole of the service--the duties are very trying.
One tries to lighten their lot and only makes it worse; my only
thought is how to get away. Heavy, heavy duties!"
Nekhludoff did not know what the inspector's particular
difficulties were, but he saw that to-day he was in a peculiarly
dejected and hopeless condition, calling for pity.
"Yes, I should think the duties were heavy for a kind-hearted
man," he said. "Why do you serve in this capacity?"
"I have a family."
"But, if it is so hard--"
"Well, still you know it is possible to be of use in some
measure; I soften down all I can. Another in my place would
conduct the affairs quite differently. Why, we have more than
2,000 persons here. And what persons! One must know how to manage
them. It is easier said than done, you know. After all, they are
also men; one cannot help pitying them." The inspector began
telling Nekhludoff of a fight that had lately taken place among
the convicts, which had ended by one man being killed.