They went out into the corridor.
The Englishman, pointing to an open door, asked what that room was for.
"This is the prison morgue."
"Oh!" exclaimed the Englishman, and he expressed a desire to enter. This room was an ordinary room. A small lamp, fastened to the wall, lit up the four bodies which were stretched on berths, with their heads toward the wall and the feet protruding toward the door. The first body, in a plain shirt, was that of a tall young man, with a small, pointed beard and half-shaven head. The corpse was already chilled, and its blue hands were folded over the breast. Beside him, in a white dress and jacket, lay a bare-footed old woman, with thin hair and wrinkled, yellowish face. Beside this old woman lay a corpse, attired in blue.
This color recalled something in Nekhludoff's memory.
"And who is this third one?" he asked, mistrusting his own eyesight.
"This one is a gentleman who was sent hither from the hospital," replied the superintendent.
Nekhludoff walked up to the body and touched the icy cold feet of Kryltzoff.