"What is the matter?" He said, "We have got some girls from Rzhanoff's house, and are taking them to the police-station; and one of them lags behind, and won't come along." A night-watchman in sheepskin coat appeared now driving on a girl who slouched along while he prodded her from behind. I, the watchman and the policeman, were wearing winter coats: she alone had none, having only her gown on. In the dark I could distinguish only a brown dress and a kerchief round her head and neck. She was short, like most starvelings, and had a broad, clumsy figure. "We aren't going to stay here all night for you, you hag! Get on, or I'll give it you!" shouted the policeman. He was evidently fatigued and tired of her. She walked some paces and stopped again. The old watchman, a good-natured man (I knew him), pulled her by the hand. "I'll wake you up! come along!" said he, pretending to be angry. She staggered, and began to speak with a croaking hoarse voice, "Let me be; don't you push. I'll get on myself." "You'll be frozen to death," he returned. "A girl like me won't be frozen: I've lots of hot blood." She meant it as a joke, but her words sounded like a curse. By a lamp, which stood not far from the gate of my house, she stopped again, leaned back against the paling, and began to seek for something among her petticoats with awkward, frozen hands. They again shouted to her; but she only muttered and continued searching. She held in one hand a crumpled cigarette and matches in the other. I remained behind her: I was ashamed to pass by or to stay and look at her. But I made up my mind and came up to her. She leaned with her shoulder against the paling and vainly tried to light a match on it. I looked narrowly at her face. She was indeed a starveling and appeared to me to be a woman of about thirty. Her complexion was dirty; her eyes small, dim, and bleared with drinking; she had a squat nose; her lips were wry and slavering, with downcast angles; from under her kerchief fell a tuft of dry hair. Her figure was long and flat; her arms and legs short. I stopped in front of her. She looked at me and grinned as if she knew all that I was thinking about. I felt that I ought to say something to her. I wanted to show her that I pitied her. "Have you parents?" I asked. She laughed hoarsely, then suddenly stopped, and, lifting her brows, began to look at me steadfastly. "Have you parents?" I repeated. She smiled with a grimace which seemed to say, "What a question for him to put!" "I have a mother," she said at last; "but what's that to you?" "And how old are you?" "I am over fifteen," she said, at once answering a question she was accustomed to hear.