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Updated: May 6, 2025
There was a row of cells on each side, the doors of which were locked. There was a hole in each door eyelet, so called of about an inch in diameter. There was no one in this corridor except an old warden with a wrinkled, sad face. "Where is Menshov's cell?" asked the assistant. "The eighth one on the left." "Are these occupied?" asked Nekhludoff. "All but one." "May I look in?" asked Nekhludoff.
"It is quieter in the meeting-room." "But it is interesting to see him there." "Interesting!" At that moment a dashing officer, the inspector's assistant, appeared at a side door. "Conduct the Prince to Menshov's cell No. 21," said the inspector to his assistant. "Then show him to the office. And I will call what is her name?" "Vera Bogodukhovskaia," said Nekhludoff.
In his face and eyes was an expression of hopeless anguish. He was apparently unconcerned about who it was that looked into his cell. Whoever it might be, he evidently hoped for no good from any one. Nekhludoff was seized with fear, and he hastened to Number 21 Menshov's cell. The warden unlocked and opened the door.
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