rning home late at night. As I turned
from the Zubova into Khamovnitchesky Lane, I saw some black spots on the
snow of the Dyevitchy Pole (field). Something was moving about in one
place. I should not have paid any attention to this, if the policeman
who was standing at the end of the street had not shouted in the
direction of the black spots,--

"Vasily! why don't you bring her in?"

"She won't come!" answered a voice, and then the spot moved towards the
policeman.

I halted and asked the police-officer, "What is it?"

He said,--"They are taking a girl from the Rzhanoff house to the station-
house; and she is hanging back, she won't walk." A house-porter in a
sheepskin coat was leading her. She was walking forward, and he was
pushing her from behind. All of us, I and the porter and the policeman,
were dressed in winter clothes, but she had nothing on over her dress. In
the darkness I could make out only her brown dress, and the kerchiefs on
her head and neck. She was short in stature, as is often the case with
the prematurely born, with small feet, and a comparatively broad and
awkward figure.

"We're waiting for you, you carrion. Get along, what do you mean by it?
I'll give it to you!" shouted the policeman. He was evidently tired, and
he had had too much of her. She advanced a few paces, and again halted.

The little old porter, a good-natured fellow (I know him), tugged at her
hand. "Here, I'll teach you to stop! On with you!" he repeated, as
though in anger. She staggered, and began to talk in a discordant voice.
At every sound there was a false note, both hoarse and whining.

"Come now, you're shoving again. I'll get there some time!"

She stopped and then went on. I followed them.

"You'll freeze," said the porters

"The likes of us don't freeze: I'm hot."

She tried to jest, but her words sounded like scolding. She halted again
under the lantern which stands not far from our house, and leaned
against, almost hung over, the fence, and began to fumble for something
among her skirts, with benumbed and awkward hands. Again they shouted at
her, but she muttered something and did something. In one hand she held
a cigarette bent into a bow, in the other a match. I paused behind her;
I was ashamed to pass her, and I was ashamed to stand and look on. But I
made up my mind, and stepped forward. Her shoulder was lying against the
fence, and against the fence it was that she vainly struck t