In every corner and all about the tables there were convicts with their caps and sheepskins on, their belts fastened, ready to go out to work at once. Before some of them stood wooden cups of kvass. They crumbled the bread into the kvass and sipped that. The noise and uproar were insufferable; but some were talking quietly and sensibly in the corners.

“A good breakfast to old man Antonitch, good morning!” said a young convict sitting down by a frowning and toothless prisoner.

“Well, good morning, if you mean it,” said the other, not raising his eyes and trying to munch the bread with his toothless gums.

“I thought you were dead, Antonitch, I really did.”

“No, you may die first, I’ll come later.”

I sat down beside them. Two steady-looking convicts were talking on my right, evidently trying to keep up their dignity with one another.