stirred the artistic fantasies of the prisoners. Sometimes I received other presents, such as a sharp, thin knife, a saw for cutting through the iron bars, a little bottle of poison, a watchchain made of hair, etc. I had a whole museum of these gifts in my cell.
One evening about ten o'clock, when I was sitting in my cell writing, I perceived rather than heard that somebody was carefully and noiselessly opening my door and then realized that a shadow was standing behind me. He had entered so deftly and quietly that I did not even turn my head, thinking at the time that I must have been mistaken. However, after a moment I sensed the breathing of a man and looked behind me, to find that Mironoff was standing there and was gazing at me from his oblique eyes with a look that clearly betokened an unpronounced request.
"What do you want?" I asked him, as I rose to be ready for any emergency.
"They have assigned me to the work of servant in the political division. I saw that you were not asleep and came in. You must be angry with me for having acted so badly when you came here. Please pardon me."
"No, I am not angry with you. I forgot all that some time ago."
"Thank you!" he exclaimed. "May I ask you something?"
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Allow me to remain in your cell while you are at work."
"But why?" I asked, somewhat astonished.
Mironoff gave a sigh and began whispering, as he pointed to that part of the prison which could be seen out through my little window.
"You don't know that up there, where we live, it is
