intervals became longer and longer, and finally silence settled over
the cell.

They were all falling asleep; some began to snore; only the old woman,
who always prayed for a long time, was still bowing before the image,
while the chanter's daughter, as soon as the matron left the cell,
came down from her cot and began to walk up and down the cell.

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. "Others
commit heaven knows what crimes, and they go scot free, while I must
suffer for nothing."

"Don't worry, girl. People live also in Siberia. You will not be lost
even there," Korableva consoled her.

"I know that I will not be lost, but it is painful to be treated that
way. I deserved a better fate. I am used to a comfortable life."

"You can do nothing against God's will," Korableva said, with a sigh.
"You can do nothing against His will."

"I know, auntie, but it is hard, nevertheless."

They became silent.