ic books; he wishes to study."

"Don't believe that." The general paused. "It is not for study that
they want them, but so, it is simply unrest."

"But their time must be occupied somehow?"

"They are always complaining," retorted the general. "We know them."

He spoke of them in general as of some peculiar race of people.

"They have such conveniences here as is seldom seen in a prison," he
continued.

And as though justifying himself, he began to recount all the
conveniences enjoyed by the prisoners in a manner to make one believe
that the chief aim of the institution consisted in making it a
pleasant place of abode.

"Formerly, it is true, the regulations were very harsh, but now their
condition is excellent. They get three dishes, one of which is always
of meat--chopped meat or cutlet. Sundays they get a fourth
dish--dessert. May God grant that every Russian could feed so well."

The general, like all old men, evidently having committed to memory
the oft-repeated words, proceeded to prove how exacting and ungrateful
the prisoners were by repeating what he had told many times before.

"They are furnished books on spiritual topics, also old journals. We
have a library of suitable books, but they seldom read them. At first
they appear to be interested, and then it is found that the pages of
all the new books are barely half cut, and of the old ones there is no
evidence of any thumb-marks at all. We even tried," with a remote
semblance of a smile the general continued, "to put a piece of paper
between the pages, and it remained untouched. Writing, too, is
allowed. A slate is given them, also a slate-pencil, so that they may
write for diversion. They can wipe it out and write again. And yet
they don't write. No, they become quiet very soon. At first they are
uneasy, but afterward they even grow stout and become very quiet."

Nekhludoff listened to the hoarse, feeble voice; looked on that
fleshless body, those faded eyes under the gray eyebrows, those
sunken, shaved cheeks, supported by a military collar, that white
cross, and understood that to argue and explain to him the meaning of
those words were futile. But, making another effort, he asked him
about the prisoner, Shustova, whose release, he had received
information, had been ordered, through the efforts of Mariette.

"Shustova? Shustova--I don't remember them all by name. There are so
many of them," he said, evidently reproving them for being so
numerou