Resurrection

From inside the cell came the sound of bustle and women's voices,

and the patter of bare feet on the floor.

"Now, then, hurry up, Maslova, I say!" called out the jailer, and

in a minute or two a small young woman with a very full bust came

briskly out of the door and went up to the jailer. She had on a

grey cloak over a white jacket and petticoat. On her feet she

wore linen stockings and prison shoes, and round her head was

tied a white kerchief, from under which a few locks of black hair

were brushed over the forehead with evident intent. The face of

the woman was of that whiteness peculiar to people who have lived

long in confinement, and which puts one in mind of shoots of

potatoes that spring up in a cellar. Her small broad hands and

full neck, which showed from under the broad collar of her cloak,

were of the same hue. Her black, sparkling eyes, one with a

slight squint, appeared in striking contrast to the dull pallor

of her face.

She carried herself very straight, expanding her full bosom.

With her head slightly thrown back, she stood in the corridor,

looking straight into the eyes of the jailer, ready to comply

with any order.

The jailer was about to lock the door when a wrinkled and

severe-looking old woman put out her grey head and began speaking

to Maslova. But the jailer closed the door, pushing the old

woman's head with it. A woman's laughter was heard from the cell,

and Maslova smiled, turning to the little grated opening in the

cell door. The old woman pressed her face to the grating from the

other side, and said, in a hoarse voice: "Now mind, and when they begin questioning you, just repeat over

the same thing, and stick to it; tell nothing that is not

wanted."

"Well, it could not be worse than it is now, anyhow; I only wish

it was settled one way or another."

"Of course, it will be settled one way or another," said the

jailer, with a superior's self-assured witticism. "Now, then, get

along! Take your places!"

The old woman's eyes vanished from the grating, and Maslova

stepped out into the middle of the corridor. The warder in front,

they descended the stone stairs, past the still fouler, noisy

cells of the men's ward, where they were followed by eyes looking

out of every one of the gratings in the doors, and entered the

office, where two soldiers were waiting to escort her. A clerk

who was sitting there gave one of the soldiers a paper reeking of

tobacco, and pointing to the prisoner, remarked, "Take her."

The soldier, a peasant from Nijni Novgorod, with a red,

pock-marked face, put the paper into the sleeve of his coat,

winked to his companion, a broad-shouldered Tchouvash, and then

the prisoner and the soldiers went to the front entrance, out of

the prison yard, and through the town up the middle of the

roughly-paved street.