r it from the
lips of a prisoner in the garb of disgrace and in prison. While
listening to him, Nekhludoff examined the low cot, with its straw
mattress, the window, with its thick iron bars, the damp, plastered
walls, the pitiful face and the figure of the unfortunate, mutilated
peasant in bast shoes and prison coat, and he became sad; he would not
believe that what this kind-hearted man told him was true. And it was
still harder to think that this truthful story should be false, and
that kindly face should deceive him. His story, in short, was that
soon after his wedding a tapster enticed away his wife. He had
recourse to the law everywhere, and the tapster was everywhere
acquitted. Once he took her away by force, but she ran away the
following day. He went to the seducer, demanding his wife. The tapster
told him that she was not there, although he saw her when coming in,
and ordered him to depart. He would not go. Then the tapster and
another workman beat him until he bled, and the following day the
tapster's house took fire. He and his mother were charged with
incendiarism, although at the time the fire broke out he was visiting
a friend.

"And you really did not set the fire?"

"I never even thought of such a thing, master. The villain must have
done it himself. They say that he had just insured his house. And he
said that I and my mother came and threatened him. It is true, I
abused him at that time--couldn't help it--but I did not set the fire,
and was not even in the neighborhood when the fire started. He set the
fire purposely on the day I was there with my mother. He did it for
the insurance money, and threw it on us."

"Is it possible?"

"As true as there is a living God, master. Do help us!" He was about
to bow to the ground, but Nekhludoff forcibly prevented him. "Release
me. I am suffering here innocently," he continued. His face suddenly
began to twitch; tears welled up in his eyes, and, rolling up the
sleeve of his coat, he began to wipe his eyes with the dirty sleeve
of his shirt.

"Have you finished?" asked the warden.

"Yes. Cheer up; I will do what I can for you," Nekhludoff said, and
walked out. Menshov stood in the door, so that when the warden closed
it he pushed him in. While the warden was locking the door, Menshov
looked through the hole.

CHAPTER LI.

It was dinner time when Nekhludoff retraced his steps through the wide
corridor, and the cells were open. The prisoners, in