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.

The inspector's assistant was a light-haired young officer with dyed
mustache, who spread around him the odor of perfume.

"Follow me, please." He turned to Nekhludoff with a pleasant smile.
"Does our institution interest you?"

"Yes. And I am also interested in that man who, I was told, is
innocent." The assistant shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, that may be," he said calmly, courteously admitting the guest
into the ill-smelling corridor. "But they also lie often. Walk in,
please."

The doors of the cells were open, and some prisoners stood in the
corridor. Slightly nodding to the wardens and looking askance at the
prisoners, who either pressed against the walls, entered their cells,
or, stopping at the doors, stood erect like soldiers, the assistant
escorted Nekhludoff through one corridor into another, on the left,
which was iron-bolted.

This corridor was darker and more ill-smelling than the first. There
was a row of cells on each side, the doors of which were locked. There