"Why--don't they admit us yet?" asked Nekhludoff.
"The service is going on. When the mass is over, you'll be
admitted."
Nekhludoff stepped aside from the waiting crowd. A man in
tattered clothes, crumpled hat, with bare feet and red stripes
all over his face, detached himself from the crowd, and turned
towards the prison.
"Now, then, where are you going?" shouted the sentinel with the
gun.
"And you hold your row," answered the tramp, not in the least
abashed by the sentinel's words, and turned back. "Well, if
you'll not let me in, I'll wait. But, no! Must needs shout, as if
he were a general."
The crowd laughed approvingly. The visitors were, for the greater
part, badly-dressed people; some were ragged, but there were also
some respectable-looking men and women. Next to Nekhludoff stood
a clean-shaven, stout, and red-cheeked man, holding a bundle,
apparently containing under-garments. This was the doorkeeper of
a bank; he had come to see his brother, who was arrested for
forgery. The good-natured fellow told Nekhludoff the whole story
of his life, and was going to question him in turn, when their
attention was aroused by a student and a veiled lady, who drove
up in a trap, with rubber tyres, drawn by a large thoroughbred
horse. The student was holding a large bundle. He came up to
Nekhludoff, and asked if and how he could give the rolls he had
brought in alms to the prisoners. His fiancee wished it (this
lady was his fiancee), and her parents had advised them to take
some rolls to the prisoners.
"I myself am here for the first time," said Nekhludoff, "and
don't know; but I think you had better ask this man," and he
pointed to the warder with the gold cords and the book, sitting
on the right.
As they were speaking, the large iron door with a window in it
opened, and an officer in uniform, followed by another warder,
stepped out. The warder with the notebook proclaimed that the
admittance of visitors would now commence. The sentinel stepped
aside, and all the visitors rushed to the door as if afraid of
being too late; some even ran. At the door there stood a warder
who counted the visitors as they came in, saying aloud, 16, 17,
and so on. Another warder stood inside the building and also
counted the visitors as they entered a second door, touching each
one with his hand, so that when they went away again not one
visitor should be able to remain inside the prison and not one
prisoner might get out. The warder, without looking at whom he
was touching, slapped Nekhludoff on the back, and Nekhludoff felt
hurt by the touch of the warder's hand; but, remembering what he
had come about, he felt ashamed of feeling dissatisfied and
taking offence.