"How it mews!" observed the hobbledehoy prisoner, twisting his head in the direction of the kitten, and he looked at his comrades. They regarded the kitten in silence.
"Do you think he'll be green all his life long?" asked the lad.
"All his life long, indeed!—how long do you think he will live, then?" began a tall, grey-bearded prisoner, squatting down beside poor puss; "don't you see he's dying in the sun, his fur is all sticking to him like glue; he'll turn up his toes soon...."
The kitten mewed spasmodically, producing a reaction in the sentiments of the prisoners.
"Turn up his toes, eh?" said the hobbledehoy, "suppose we try to wash it off him?"
Nobody answered him The little green lump writhed at the feet of the rough fellows, a pitiable object of utter helplessness.
"Pooh! I'm all of a muck sweat!" screamed Zazubrina, flinging himself on the ground. Nobody took the slightest notice of him.
The hobbledehoy bent over the kitten and took it up in his arms, but immediately put it on the ground again. "It's all burning hot," he explained.
Then he regarded his comrades, and sorrowfully said:
"Poor puss, look at him! We shall not have our puss much longer. What was the use of killing the poor beast, eh?"