"And Doukhova, a political prisoner; might I see her?"
"Yes, if you like," said the inspector. He embraced the little
girl, who was still looking at Nekhludoff, got up, and, tenderly
motioning her aside, went into the ante-room. Hardly had he got
into the overcoat which the maid helped him to put on, and before
he had reached the door, the distinct sounds of Clementi's
roulades again began.
"She entered the Conservatoire, but there is such disorder there.
She has a great gift," said the inspector, as they went down the
stairs. "She means to play at concerts."
The inspector and Nekhludoff arrived at the prison. The gates
were instantly opened as they appeared. The jailers, with their
fingers lifted to their caps, followed the inspector with their
eyes. Four men, with their heads half shaved, who were carrying
tubs filled with something, cringed when they saw the inspector.
One of them frowned angrily, his black eyes glaring.
"Of course a talent like that must be developed; it would not do
to bury it, but in a small lodging, you know, it is rather hard."
The inspector went on with the conversation, taking no notice of
the prisoners.
"Who is it you want to see?"
"Doukhova."
"Oh, she's in the tower. You'll have to wait a little," he said.
"Might I not meanwhile see the prisoners Menshoff, mother and
son, who are accused of incendiarism?"
"Oh, yes. Cell No. 21. Yes, they can be sent for."
"But might I not see Menshoff in his cell?"
"Oh, you'll find the waiting-room more pleasant."
"No. I should prefer the cell. It is more interesting."
"Well, you have found something to be interested in!"
Here the assistant, a smartly-dressed officer, entered the side
door.
"Here, see the Prince into Menshoff's cell, No. 21," said the
inspector to his assistant, "and then take him to the office. And
I'll go and call--What's her name? Vera Doukhova."
The inspector's assistant was young, with dyed moustaches, and
diffusing the smell of eau-de-cologne. "This way, please," he
said to Nekhludoff, with a pleasant smile. "Our establishment
interests you?"
"Yes, it does interest me; and, besides, I look upon it as a duty
to help a man who I heard was confined here, though innocent."
The assistant shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes, that may happen," he said quietly, politely stepping aside
to let the visitor enter, the stinking corridor first. "But it
also happens that they lie. Here we are."
The doors of the cells were open, and some of the prisoners were
in the corridor. The assistant nodded slightly to the jailers,
and cast a side glance at the prisoners, who, keeping close to
the wall, crept back to their cells, or stood like soldiers, with
their arms at their sides, following the official with their
eyes. After passing through one corridor, the assistant showed
Nekhludoff into another to the left, separated from the first by
an iron door. This corridor was darker, and smelt even worse than
the first. The corridor had doors on both sides, with little
holes in them about an inch in diameter. There was only an old
jailer, with an unpleasant face, in this corridor.