“Who the devil had the idea of sinking this barque?” asked one of the convicts in a loud voice, without speaking to any one in particular.
“Were they very anxious, then, to have it broken up?”
“The people were not afraid to give us work,” said another.
“Where are all those peasants going to work?” said the first, after a short silence.
He had not even heard his companion’s answer. He pointed with his finger to the distance, where a troop of peasants were marching in file across the virgin snow.
All the convicts turned negligently towards this side, and began from mere idleness to laugh at the peasants as they approached them. One of them, the last of the line, walked very comically with his arms apart, and his head on one side. He wore a tall pointed cap. His shadow threw itself in clear lines on the white snow.
“Look how our brother Petrovitch is dressed,” said one of my companions, imitating the pronunciation of the peasants of the locality. One amusing thing—the convicts looked down on peasants, although they were for the most part peasants by origin.
“The last one, too, above all, looks as if he were planting radishes.”
“He is an important personage, he has lots of money,” said a third.
They all began to laugh without, however, seeming genuinely amused.