"Ah, Marfa! I forgot," she said, in a tone of content. They plodded on in silence after this short conversation, until the midday halt was called, when Michael carried little Clava to her mother, and Sergius followed with their bag of coarse food, of which neither Tatiania nor her child could eat much. CHAPTER XXIV THE EXILES' BEGGING SONG SO the protracted, monotonous march went on; the only change, a change of guards. Some of these made the life more wretched than others; and now and then a captain would compel the whole cavalcade to make a forced march in quicker time than usual, if business or pleasure awaited him in the town they were approaching. Of the towns the exiles saw nothing, but in the villages on their route they were allowed to beg from the inhabitants; for the allowance of money made to each person by the Government was a pitiful pittance, quite too little to sustain life on the merest necessities. As they drew near to a village, the chained prisoners let their fetters clink and jingle as loudly as possible, to call attention to their passing by. The shrill ring formed an accompaniment to the convicts' begging song, which each man sang, not in unison, but in an almost tuneless chant, which, however, had a heart-shaking modulation of its own. "Have pity on us, O our fathers! Don't forgot the unwilling travellers, Don't forgot the long-imprisoned. Feed us, O our father!—Help us! "Feed and help the poor and needy! Have compassion, O our fathers! Have compassion, O our mothers! For the sake of Christ, have mercy On the prisoners—the shut-up ones! Behind walls of stone and gratings, Behind oaken doors and padlocks, Behind bars and locks of iron, We are held in close confinement. We have parted from our fathers, From our mothers; We from all our kin have parted, We are prisoners; Pity us, O our fathers!" This mournful chant rang on far in advance, and the pitiful notes brought many a peasant to the door, with half a loaf of bread or a few handfuls of meal. The Stundists were usually deputed to beg, as they could be trusted not to secrete any alms that might take the shape of money or tobacco. Alexis, with his grave and noble face, and old Matrona, whose bowed shoulders and wrinkled features appealed strongly for pity, were the most successful suppliants. The placid and grateful old woman often moved the peasant women to tears. "You're too old to go on étape, mother," they said. "I go with my only son," she would answer. "God pity you both!" exclaimed the peasants. "He pities us, and loves us too," said Matrona, with her peaceful smile.