Then he came down the stairs and Madame Vasselitch was there undoing the shutters and removing the nails from the window casing.

“What have you seen, little son?” she asked, and her voice was gentle, for the face of Serge was pale and his eyes were wide.

But Serge did not answer the question.

“What is that house?” he said.  “The great building with the bars that you call the house of the dead?”

“Shall I tell you, little son,” said Madame Vasselitch, and she looked at him, still thinking.  “Yes,” she said, “he shall know.

“It is the prison of the condemned, and from there they go forth only to die.  Listen, little son,” she went on, and she gripped Serge by the wrist till he could feel the bones of her fingers against his flesh.  “There lay my husband, Vangorod Vasselitch, waiting for his death.  Months long he was there behind the bars and no one might see him or know when he was to die.  I took this tall house that I might at least be near him till the end.  But to those who lie there waiting for their death it is allowed once and once only that they may look out upon the world.  And this is allowed to them the day before they die.  So I took this house and waited, and each day I looked forth at dawn across the street and he was not there.  Then at last he came.  I saw him at the window and his face was pale and set and I could see the marks of the iron on his wrists as he held them to the bars.  But I could see that his spirit was unbroken.  There was no power in them to break that.  Then he saw me at the window, and thus across the narrow street we said good-bye.  It was only a moment.  ‘Sonia Vasselitch,’ he said, ’do not forget,’ and he was gone.  I have not forgotten.  I have lived on here in this dark house, and I have not forgotten.  My sons—­yes, little brother, my sons, I say—­have not forgotten.  Now tell me, Sergius Ivanovitch, what you have seen.”

“I have seen the woman that I love,” said Serge, “kneeling behind the bars in prayer.  I have seen Olga Ileyitch.”

“Her name,” said Madame Vasselitch, and there were no tears in her eyes and her voice was calm, “her name is Olga Vasselitch.  She is my daughter, and to-morrow she is to die.”

CHAPTER IV

Madame Vasselitch took Serge by the hand.

“Come,” she said, “you shall speak to my sons,” and she led him down the stairs towards the room of Halfoff and Kwitoff.

“They are my sons,” she said.  “Olga is their sister.  They are working to save her.”

Then she opened the door.  Halfoff and Kwitoff were working as Serge had seen them before, beside the crucible with the blue flame on their faces.

They had not slept.

Madame Vasselitch spoke.

“He has seen Olga,” she said.  “It is to-day.”

“We are too late,” said Halfoff, and he groaned.

“Courage, brother,” said Kwitoff.  “She will not die till sunrise.  It is twilight now.  We have still an hour.  Let us to work.”