He returned from the court at nine o'clock in the evening and, going from cell to cell after his arrival, he looked sharply and quizzically into the faces of each one of his fellow-prisoners. When he came to our cell, he carefully closed the door, looked us straight in the eyes and whispered:
"I am condemned to die. They will certainly execute me to-night, as they will be in a hurry to have the thing over. Will you help to save my life?"
"Of course!" we both assured him.
"Thank you," he whispered fervently. "When the supper is brought, I want as much of a commotion as possible to be made throughout the whole prison. Profit by the slightest chance to make all the disturbance you can, and during this distraction I shall work out something for myself."
As soon as he had gone out, Nowakowski and I quietly made the round of the cells and gave all the prisoners directions as to the part they were to take in the commotion. It transpired fortunately that no specious pretext had to be resorted to, owing to the fact that the prisoners who were not receiving food from home were served with a cabbage soup in which some worms were found. The commotion started from somewhere and swelled like a roll of thunder through the prison with the curses, cries, the hammering of fists on tables and doors, and loud demands to see the Commandant of the Prison, the officer on duty, the Prosecutor and even the Tsar himself. When such a row is set up by two hundred nervous excited men, the noise can become dreadful. The whole staff, down to the last of the soldiers and the cook's helpers, rushed up to calm us. The passers-by in the street, attracted by the cries in the prison, stopped in astonishment. No one remained in the prison yard and
