hed to yellow cords fastened around their waists, stood
at their posts. Children and dogs played on the grass-plots, and gay
nurses sat chatting on the benches.

On the streets, the left sides of which were yet cool, moist and
shady, heavy carts and light cabs rumbled and jostled, the tram-cars
rang their bells. The air was agitated by the pealing of the
church-bells summoning the people to mass.

The driver stopped at a turn some distance from the prison. A few men
and women stood around, most of them with bundles in their hands. To
the right stood a few frame houses; to the left a two-story building
over which hung a large sign. The large prison itself was directly in
front. An armed soldier walked to and fro challenging every one
attempting to pass him.

At the gate of the frame buildings sat the warden in uniform, with an
entry booklet in his hand. He made entries of visitors and those whom
they wished to see. Nekhludoff approached him, gave his name and that
of Moslova, and the officer entered them in his book.

"Why don't they open the door?" asked Nekhludoff.

"The morning service is on. As soon as it is over you will be
admitted."

Nekhludoff returned among the waiting crowd.

A man in threadbare clothing, rumpled hat and slippers on his bare
feet, and his face full of red lines, pushed his way through the crowd
and walked toward the prison door.

"Where are you going?" shouted the soldier.

"What are you bawling about?" answered the man, entirely undisturbed
by the soldier's challenge. "If I can't go in, I will wait. No use
bawling as if you were a general."

The crowd laughed approvingly. Most of the visitors were poorly
dressed, even ragged, but, judging by outward appearance, there were
also some decent men and women among them. Beside Nekhludoff stood a
well-dressed man, clean shaven, stout and with rosy cheeks, who
carried a bundle of what looked like linen. Nekhludoff asked him if
that was his first visit. The man answered that he came there every
Sunday, and they entered into conversation. He was an employee of a
bank, whose brother was under indictment for forgery. This
kind-hearted man told Nekhludoff all his story, and was about to ask
him about his own when their attention was attracted by a rubber-tired
carriage drawn by a blooded chestnut horse. The carriage was occupied
by a student and a lady whose face was hidden under a veil. The
student alighted, holding in his hand a large bundle