Yanson dressed himself in all that he possessed, and tied his dirty shawl around his neck. While watching him dress, the man with the epaulets, who was smoking a cigarette, said to one of the assistants:
"How warm it is to-day! It is spring!"
Yanson's eyes closed; he was in a complete drowse. The guard shouted:
"Come, come! Make haste! You are going to sleep!"
Suddenly Yanson ceased to move.
"I must not be hanged," said he, with indolence.
He began to walk submissively, shrugging his shoulders. In the courtyard the moist spring air had a sudden effect upon him; his nose began to run; it was thawing; close by, drops of water were falling with a joyous sound. While the gendarmes were getting into the unlighted vehicle, bending over and rattling their swords, Yanson lazily passed his finger under his running nose, or arranged his badly-tied shawl.
