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The noise attracted the warden and the matron. They were finally parted. Korableva loosened her gray braid and began to pick out the pieces of torn hair, while the other held the tattered remnant of her shirt to her breast both shouting, explaining and complaining against one another. "I know it is the wine I can smell it," said the matron. "I will tell the superintendent to-morrow.
"Oh, for a drop of wine," she said to Korableva, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her shirt and sobbing from time to time. "Some booze? Why, of course!" said Korableva. Maslova produced the money from one of the lunch-rolls and gave it to Korableva, who climbed up to the draught-hole of the oven for a flask of wine she had hidden there.
Well, our guessing was no use. The Lord willed otherwise," she went on in musical tones. "Is it possible? Have they sentenced you?" asked Theodosia, with concern, looking at Maslova with her bright blue, child-like eyes; and her merry young face changed as if she were going to cry. Maslova did not answer, but went on to her place, the second from the end, and sat down beside Korableva.
Maslova was awake and incessantly thinking of herself as a convict, the word which had been twice applied to her once by Bochkova, and again by the red-haired woman. She could not be reconciled to the thought. Korableva, who was lying with her back turned toward Maslova, turned around. "I never dreamed of such a thing," she said, in a low voice.
Even the deacon's daughter stopped for a moment and looked at her with lifted brows before resuming her steady striding up and down. Korableva stuck her needle into the brown sacking and looked questioningly at Maslova through her spectacles. "Eh, eh, deary me, so you have come back. And I felt sure they'd acquit you. So you've got it?"
When, however, she heard the kind, compassionate exclamation of pity from the old woman, and, especially, when her eyes met the serious eyes of the boy who looked now at her, now at the rolls, she could restrain herself no longer. Her whole face began to twitch and she burst into sobs. "I told her to take a good lawyer," said Korableva. "Well? To Siberia?" she asked.
"I'll offer her something." "Come on then," said the red-haired one, advancing towards Korableva. "Ah! think I'm afraid of such as you?" "Convict fright!" "That's her as says it." "Slut!" "I? A slut? Convict! Murderess!" screamed the red-haired one. "Go away, I tell you," said Korableva gloomily, but the red-haired one came nearer and Korableva struck her in the chest.
Maslova wished to answer but could not, and, crying, she produced from the roll the box of cigarettes, on which a picture of a red lady with a high chignon and triangle-shaped, low cut neck was printed, and gave it to Korableva.
Try it!" moving toward Korableva, said the red-haired woman. "I am not afraid of you." "You jail bird!" "You are another!" "You gutter rake!" "I am a rake am I? You convict, murderess!" shrieked the red-haired woman. "Go away, I tell you!" said Korableva frowning. But the red-haired woman only came nearer, and Korableva gave her a push on the open, fat breast.
She made no answer, and without looking at him left the room, preceded by the warden. "Well, girl, good times are coming," said Korableva to Maslova when the latter returned to the cell. "He seems to be stuck on you, so make the most of it while he is calling. He will get you released. The rich can do anything." "That's so," drawled the watch-woman.
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