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A fine, clean, and polite isvostchik drove him past fine, clean, polite policemen, along the fine, clean, watered streets, past fine, clean houses to the house in which Mariette lived. At the front door stood a pair of English horses, with English harness, and an English-looking coachman on the box, with the lower part of his face shaved, proudly holding a whip.
"You had hardly gone away from Prince Korchagin's yesterday," he said, turning half round, "when I drove up, and the Swiss at the door says, 'just gone." The isvostchik knew that Nekhludoff visited at the Korchagins, and called there on the chance of being engaged by him.
The isvostchik who drove Nekhludoff said, "Quite a lot of people are dying in the prison every day, some kind of disease having sprung up among them, so that as many as twenty were buried in one day."
When the last of the carts moved, Nekhludoff got into the trap that stood waiting for him and told the isvostchik to catch up the prisoners in front, so that he could see if he knew any of the men in the gang, and then try and find out Maslova among the women and ask her if she had received the things he sent.
"Yes, and why did you go in?" asked the public prosecutor, forgetting himself, and addressing her directly. "I went in to rest a bit, and to wait for an isvostchik." "And was Kartinkin in the room with the prisoner, or not?" "He came in." "Why did he come in?" "There was some of the merchant's brandy left, and we finished it together." "Oh, finished it together. Very well!
Nekhludoff obeyed, and went back to his isvostchik, who was dozing. He awoke him, and they drove back towards the railway station. They had not made a hundred steps when they met a cart accompanied by a convoy soldier with a gun. On the cart lay another convict, who was already dead.
The prison was a long way off and it was getting late, so Nekhludoff took an isvostchik. The isvostchik, a middle-aged man with an intelligent and kind face, turned round towards Nekhludoff as they were driving along one of the streets and pointed to a huge house that was being built there.
"I thought your excellency was a foreigner," the driver said, "but I see you are one of us." "No, I am an Englishman, but I lived here till I was ten years old. The snow has begun earlier than usual, has it not?" "It won't last," the Isvostchik said. "Sometimes we have a week at this time of year, but it is not till December that it sets in in earnest.
He thought that the copy of the document he had received would suffice, so when he left the post-office he told the isvostchik to drive him to the prison.
His eyes opened wide as if in fear, but his position remained unchanged. Streams of dirt trickled down his dusty face, but the mouth continued to gasp in the same regular way, and his whole body shook. "And what's this? Take this one," said the police officer, pointing to Nekhludoff's isvostchik. "You, there, drive up." "I am engaged," said the isvostchik, dismally, and without looking up.
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