Looking into one of the carriages, Nekhlúdoff saw convoy soldiers taking the manacles off the hands of the prisoners. The prisoners held out their arms, and one of the soldiers unlocked the manacles with a key and took them off; the other collected them.
After he had passed all the other carriages, Nekhlúdoff came up to the women’s carriages. From the second of these he heard a woman’s groans: “Oh, oh, oh! O God! Oh, oh! O God!”
Nekhlúdoff passed this carriage and went up to a window of the third carriage, which a soldier pointed out to him. When he approached his face to the window, he felt the hot air, filled with the smell of perspiration, coming out of it, and heard distinctly the shrill sound of women’s voices. All the seats were filled with red, perspiring, loudly-talking women, dressed in prison cloaks and white jackets. Nekhlúdoff’s face at the window attracted their attention. Those nearest ceased talking and drew closer. Máslova, in her white jacket and her head uncovered, sat by the opposite window. The white-skinned, smiling Theodosia sat a little nearer. When she recognised Nekhlúdoff, she nudged Máslova and pointed to the window. Máslova rose hurriedly, threw her kerchief over her black hair, and with a smile on her hot, red face came up to the window and took hold of one of the bars.
“Well, it is hot,” she said, with a glad smile.
“Did you get the things?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Is there anything more you want?” asked Nekhlúdoff, while the air came out of the hot carriage as out of an oven.
“I want nothing, thank you.”
“If we could get a drink?” said Theodosia.
“Yes, if we could get a drink,” repeated Máslova.
“Why, have you not got any water?”
“They put some in, but it is all gone.”
“Directly, I will ask one of the convoy men. Now we shall not see each other till we get to Níjni.”
“Why? Are you going?” said Máslova, as if she did not know it, and looked joyfully at Nekhlúdoff.
“I am going by the next train.”
Máslova said nothing, but only sighed deeply.
“Is it true, sir, that twelve convicts have been done to death?” said a severe-looking old prisoner with a deep voice like a man’s.
It was Korabléva.
“I did not hear of twelve; I have seen two,” said Nekhlúdoff.
“They say there were twelve they killed. And will nothing be done to them? Only think! The fiends!”
“And have none of the women fallen ill?” Nekhlúdoff asked.
“Women are stronger,” said another of the prisoners—a short little woman, and laughed; “only there’s one that has taken it into her head to be delivered. There she goes,” she said, pointing to the next carriage, whence proceeded the groans.
“You ask if we want anything,” said Máslova, trying to keep the smile of joy from her lips; “could not this woman be left behind, suffering as she is? There, now, if you would tell the authorities.”
“Yes, I will.”
“And one thing more; could she not see her husband, Tarás?” she added, pointing with her eyes to the smiling Theodosia.
“He is going with you, is he not?”
“Sir, you must not talk,” said a convoy sergeant, not the one who had let Nekhlúdoff come up. Nekhlúdoff left the carriage and went in search of an official to whom he might speak for the woman in travail and about Tarás, but could not find him, nor get an answer from any of the convoy for a long time. They were all in a bustle; some were leading a prisoner somewhere or other, others running to get themselves provisions, some were placing their things in the carriages or attending on a lady who was going to accompany the convoy officer, and they answered Nekhlúdoff’s questions unwillingly. Nekhlúdoff found the convoy officer only after the second bell had been rung. The officer with his short arm was wiping the moustaches that covered his mouth and shrugging his shoulders, reproving the corporal for something or other.
“What is it you want?” he asked Nekhlúdoff.
“You’ve got a woman there who is being confined, so I thought best—”
“Well, let her be confined; we shall see later on,” and briskly swinging his short arms, he ran up to his carriage. At the moment the guard passed with a whistle in his hand, and from the people on the platform and from the women’s carriages there arose a sound of weeping and words of prayer.
Nekhlúdoff stood on the platform by the side of Tarás, and looked how, one after the other, the carriages glided past him, with the shaved heads of the men at the grated windows. Then the first of the women’s carriages came up, with women’s heads at the windows, some covered with kerchiefs and some uncovered, then the second, whence proceeded the same groans, then the carriage where Máslova was. She stood with the others at the window, and looked at Nekhlúdoff with a pathetic smile.
XXXIX
There were still two hours before the passenger train by which Nekhlúdoff was going would start. He had thought of using this interval to see his sister again; but after the impressions of the morning he felt much excited and so done up that, sitting down on a sofa in the first-class refreshment-room, he suddenly grew so drowsy that he turned over on to his side, and, laying his face on his hand, fell asleep at once. A waiter in a dress coat with a napkin in his hand woke him.
“Sir, sir, are you not Prince Nekhlúdoff? There’s a lady looking for you.”
Nekhlúdoff started up and recollected where he was and all that had happened in the morning.
He saw in his imagination the procession of prisoners, the dead bodies, the railway carriages with barred windows, and the women locked up in them, one of whom was groaning in travail with no one to help her, and another who was pathetically smiling at him through the bars.
The reality before his eyes was very different, i.e., a table with vases, candlesticks and crockery,
