Isay Fomitch, who had been too timid to utter a word and so cowed at his first entrance that he had not dared to raise his eyes in the crowd of mocking, disfigured and terrible faces which hemmed him in, was cheered at once at the sight of the proferred pledge, and began briskly turning over the rags. He even held them up to the light. Everyone waited to hear what he would say.

“Well, you won’t give me a silver rouble, I suppose? It’s worth it, you know,” said the would-be borrower winking at Isay Fomitch.

“A silver rouble, no, but seven kopecks maybe.”

And those were the first words uttered by Isay Fomitch in prison. Everyone roared with laughter.

“Seven! Well, give me seven then; it’s a bit of luck for you. Mind you take care of the pledge; it’s as much as your life’s worth if you lose it.”