ose
in front and close-fitting behind. The fourth chamber was behind the
partition; the entrance to it was from the landlord's compartment.

The student went into the landlord's room, and I remained in the entrance
compartment, and questioned the old man and woman. The old man had been
a master-printer, but now had no means of livelihood. The woman was the
wife of a cook. I went to the third compartment, and questioned the
woman in the blouse about the sleeping man. She said that he was a
visitor. I asked the woman who she was. She replied that she was a
Moscow peasant. "What is your business?" She burst into a laugh, and
did not answer me. "What do you live on?" I repeated, thinking that she
had not understood my question. "I sit in the taverns," she said. I did
not comprehend, and again I inquired: "What is your means of livelihood?"
She made no reply and laughed. Women's voices in the fourth compartment
which we had not yet entered, joined in the laugh. The landlord emerged
from his cabin and stepped up to us. He had evidently heard my questions
and the woman's replies. He cast a stern glance at the woman and turned
to me: "She is a prostitute," said he, apparently pleased that he knew
the word in use in the language of the authorities, and that he could
pronounce it correctly. And having said this, with a respectful and
barely perceptible smile of satisfaction addressed to me, he turned to
the woman. And no sooner had he turned to her, than his whole face
altered. He said, in a peculiar, scornful, hasty tone, such as is
employed towards dogs: "What do you jabber in that careless way for? 'I
sit in the taverns.' You do sit in the taverns, and that means, to talk
business, that you are a prostitute," and again he uttered the word. "She
does not know the name for herself." This tone offended me. "It is not
our place to abuse her," said I. "If all of us lived according to the
laws of God, there would be none of these women."

"That's the very point," said the landlord, with an awkward smile.

"Therefore, we should not reproach but pity them. Are they to blame?"

I do not recollect just what I said, but I do remember that I was vexed
by the scornful tone of the landlord of these quarters which were filled
with women, whom he called prostitutes, and that I felt compassion for
this woman, and that I gave expression to both feelings. No sooner had I
spoken thus, than the boards of the bed in the