Isaiah Fomitch held in his hand a bag containing the things given to him, and some other things of his own. He put down his bag, took his place at the plank bedstead, and sat down there with his legs crossed, without daring to raise his eyes. People were laughing all round him. The convicts ridiculed him by reason of his Jewish origin. Suddenly a young convict left the others, and came up to him, carrying in his hand an old pair of summer trousers, dirty, torn, and mended with old rags. He sat down by the side of Isaiah Fomitch, and struck him on the shoulder. “Well, my dear fellow,” said he, “I have been waiting for the last six years; look up and tell me how much you will give for this article,” holding up his rags before him. Isaiah Fomitch was so dumbfounded that he did not dare to look at the mocking crowd, with mutilated and frightful countenances, now grouped around him, and did not speak a single word, so frightened was he. When he saw who was speaking to him he shuddered, and began to examine the rags carefully. Every one waited to hear his first words. “Well, cannot you give me a silver rouble for it? It is certainly worth that,” said the would-be vendor smiling, and looking towards Isaiah Fomitch with a wink. “A silver rouble! no; but I will give you seven kopecks.” These were the first words pronounced by Isaiah Fomitch in the convict prison. A loud laugh was heard from all sides. “Seven kopecks! Well, give them to me; you are lucky, you are indeed. Look! Take care of the pledge, you answer for it with your head.” “With three kopecks for interest; that will make ten kopecks you will owe me,” said the Jew, at the same time slipping his hand into his pocket to get out the sum agreed upon. “Three kopecks interest--for a year?” “No, not for a year, for a month.” “You are a terrible screw, what is your name?” “Isaiah Fomitch.” “Well, Isaiah Fomitch, you ought to get on. Good-bye.” The Jew examined once more the rags on which he had lent seven kopecks, folded them up, and put them carefully away in his bag. The convicts continued to laugh at him. In reality every one laughed at him, but, although every prisoner owed him money, no one insulted him; and when he saw that every one was well disposed towards him, he gave himself haughty airs, but so comic that they were at once forgiven. Luka, who had known many Jews when he was at liberty, often teased him, less from malice than for amusement, as one plays with a dog or a parrot. Isaiah Fomitch knew this and did not take offence. “You will see, Jew, how I will flog you.” “If you give me one blow I will return you ten,” replied Isaiah Fomitch valiantly. “Scurvy Jew.” “As scurvy as you like; I have in any case plenty of money.” “Bravo! Isaiah Fomitch. We must take care of you. You are the only Jew we have; but they will send you to Siberia all the same.” “I am already in Siberia.” “They will send you farther on.” “Is not the Lord God there?”