is a tall, full woman of forty-six, with chestnut
hair, and a fat goitre of three chins. Her eyes are encircled with
black rings of hemorrhoidal origin. The face broadens out like a pear
from the forehead down to the cheeks, and is of an earthen colour; the
eyes are small, black; the nose humped, the lips sternly pursed; the
expression of the face calmly authoritative. It is no mystery to anyone
in the house that in a year or two Anna Markovna will go into
retirement, and sell her the establishment with all its rights and
furnishings, when she will receive part in cash, and part on terms--by
promissory note. Because of this the girls honour her equally with the
proprietress and fear her somewhat. Those who fall into error she beats
with her own hands, beats cruelly, coolly, and calculatingly, without
changing the calm expression of her face. Among the girls there is
always a favourite of hers, whom she tortures with her exacting love
and fantastic jealousy. And this is far harder than her beatings.

The other one is called Zociya. She has just struggled out of the ranks
of the common girls. The girls, as yet, call her impersonally,
flatteringly and familiarly, "little housekeeper." She is spare, spry,
just a trifle squinting, with a rosy complexion, and hair dressed in a
little curly pompadour; she adores actors--preferably stout comedians.
Toward Emma Edwardovna she is ingratiating.

The fifth person, finally, is the local district inspector, Kerbesh.
This is an athletic man; he is kind of bald, has a red beard like a
fan, vividly blue slumbrous eyes, and a thin, slightly hoarse, pleasant
voice. Everybody knows that he formerly served in the secret service
division and was the terror of crooks, thanks to his terrible physical
strength and cruelty in interrogations.

He has several shady transactions on his conscience. The whole town
knows that two years back he married a rich old woman of seventy, and
that last year he strangled her; however, he was somehow successful in
hushing up this affair. But for that matter, the remaining four have
also seen a thing or two in their chequered life. But, just as the
bretteurs of old felt no twinges of conscience at the recollection of
their victims, even so do these people regard the dark and bloody
things in their past, as the unavoidable little unpleasantness of their
professions.

They are drinking coffee with rich, boiled cream--the inspector with
Benedictine. But he, str