ed her in the most obscene
language. We told her shameless things.

We did this not loud but slowly, seeing that she could not get away,
that she was surrounded by us and we could mock her as much as we
pleased. I don't know why, but we did not beat her. She stood among
us, turning her head one way and another, listening to our abuses.
And we kept on throwing at her more of the mire and poison of our
words.

The color left her face. Her blue eyes, so happy a moment ago,
opened wide, her breast breathed heavily and her lips were trembling.

And we, surrounding her, avenged ourselves upon her, for she had
robbed us. She had belonged to us, we had spent on her all that was
best in us, though that best was the crusts of beggars, but we were
twenty-six, while she was one, and therefore there was no suffering
painful enough to punish her for her crime! How we abused her! She
was silent, looked at us wild-eyed, and trembling in every limb. We
were laughing, roaring, growling. Some more people ran up to us.
Some one of us pulled Tanya by the sleeve of her waist. . . .

Suddenly her eyes began to flash; slowly she lifted her hands to her
head, and, adjusting her hair, said loudly, but calmly, looking
straight into our eyes:

"Miserable prisoners!"

And she came directly toward us, she walked, too, as though we were
not in front of her, as though we were not in her way. Therefore
none of us were in her way, and coming out of our circle, without
turning to us, she said aloud, and with indescribable contempt:

"Rascals! . . . Rabble!" . . .

Then she went away.

We remained standing in the centre of the yard, in the mud, under the
rain and the gray, sunless sky. . . .

Then we all went back silently to our damp, stony ditch. As before,
the sun never peeped in through our windows, and Tanya never came
there again! . . . .

Tchelkache

The sky is clouded by the dark smoke rising from the harbor. The
ardent sun gazes at the green sea through a thin veil. It is unable to
see its reflection in the water so agitated is the latter by the oars,
the steamer screws and the sharp keels of the Turkish feluccas, or sail
boats, that plough the narrow harbor in every direction. The waves
imprisoned by stone walls, crushed under the enormous weights that they
carry, beat against the sides of the vessels and the quays; beat and
murmur, foaming and muddy.

The noise of chains, the rolling of wagons laden with m