God, the Impartial Judge, will not pardon you. I see in my mind's eye that, before a year is ended, you will die and go before His Tribunal."
I turned and went out, so disappointed and disgusted at the man that I did not even call for the rest of my salary. I hired a room in a cheap hotel and began once more the search for employment. Throughout the following days I visited various industrial plants and sugar factories in South Russia, offering my services as a chemist, but everywhere my revolutionary past blocked the way for me. Then one day a police official came to me with this encouraging bit of information:
"Your former employer, the owner of the asphalt factory, has notified us that you were a political prisoner. If you had a stable occupation, we could wink at your remaining in Kieff; but, inasmuch as you have no employment, the Governor wants you to know that you will be given twenty-four hours in which to leave Kieff and that, if you are not away within this time, you will be returned to St. Petersburg in a convict car for reference to the authorities there."
That same night I left Kieff in a depressed and despondent state of mind, as I was very near to the bottom of my treasure chest. I needed no bookkeeping to tell me this, for, after I had paid the inn account and bought my ticket to St. Petersburg, I had only seven roubles left.
