eral Ivanoff had no need to wait in ordering execution of the sentence imposed.
After another day of this torture of waiting for death had passed, I heard, in the evening, when the prison had grown quiet, the noise of voices and of footsteps in the corridor. In a moment my door was opened and General Ivanoff entered, followed by the Captain who was in charge of the prison.
"Death …" thought I, "the end!"
"Cell No. 5, the political prisoner Ossendowski, condemned to be shot, General," the old Captain announced.
"Nobody asked you, Captain," grunted the General, and, without adding anything, turned and went out.
I heard the door of the neighbouring cell open but I could not catch the words of the Captain.
"Surely they will make an end of me this night," I thought, as I pressed together my icy hands. The night hours dragged interminably for me; the prison was quiet; the guards changed with little noise in the corridors; while from the yard floated up the call of the sentinels:
"Take care! Take care!"
I paid no attention to my night raiders. In my distraught state of mind I developed the idea that they understood my torture and, in mercy, left me alone. Nor did I feel the pain in my leg or have any sense of hunger and thirst. For hours long I sat with my eyes fixed on the door, ever expecting it to open for someone to give me the signal to go. With the highest tension I listened to each sound in the prison and the yard.
Finally this seemingly endless night of torture yielded to a day that was but little less harassing to my overwrought nerves. Then at evening, when I once more in benumbed misery faced another night of expecting death, the Commander of the Prison abruptly entered my cell
