they only tried to get away from the convoy, and had not even wounded any one.  And then it was so unnatural to execute such a child as Rozovsky.  And we in prison all came to the conclusion that it was only done to frighten them, and would not be confirmed.  At first we were excited, and then we comforted ourselves, and life went on as before.  Yes.  Well, one evening, a watchman comes to my door and mysteriously announces to me that carpenters had arrived, and were putting up the gallows.  At first I did not understand.  What’s that?  What gallows?  But the watchman was so excited that I saw at once it was for our two.  I wished to tap and communicate with my comrades, but was afraid those two would hear.  The comrades were also silent.  Evidently everybody knew.  In the corridors and in the cells everything was as still as death all that evening.  They did not tap the wall nor sing.  At ten the watchman came again and announced that a hangman had arrived from Moscow.  He said it and went away.  I began calling him back.  Suddenly I hear Rozovsky shouting to me across the corridor:  ’What’s the matter?  Why do you call him?’ I answered something about asking him to get me some tobacco, but he seemed to guess, and asked me:  ’Why did we not sing to-night, why did we not tap the walls?’ I do not remember what I said, but I went away so as not to speak to him.  Yes.  It was a terrible night.  I listened to every sound all night.  Suddenly, towards morning, I hear doors opening and somebody walking—­many persons.  I went up to my window.  There was a lamp burning in the corridor.  The first to pass was the inspector.  He was stout, and seemed a resolute, self-satisfied man, but he looked ghastly pale, downcast, and seemed frightened; then his assistant, frowning but resolute; behind them the watchman.  They passed my door and stopped at the next, and I hear the assistant calling out in a strange voice:  ’Lozinsky, get up and put on clean linen.’  Yes.  Then I hear the creaking of the door; they entered into his cell.  Then I hear Lozinsky’s steps going to the opposite side of the corridor.  I could only see the inspector.  He stood quite pale, and buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, shrugging his shoulders.  Yes.  Then, as if frightened of something, he moved out of the way.  It was Lozinsky, who passed him and came up to my door.  A handsome young fellow he was, you know, of that nice Polish type:  broad shouldered, his head covered with fine, fair, curly hair as with a cap, and with beautiful blue eyes.  So blooming, so fresh, so healthy.  He stopped in front of my window, so that I could see the whole of his face.  A dreadful, gaunt, livid face.  ’Kryltzoff, have you any cigarettes?’ I wished to pass him some, but the assistant hurriedly pulled out his cigarette case and passed it to him.  He took out one, the assistant struck a match, and he lit the cigarette and began to smoke and seemed to be thinking.  Then, as if he had remembered something, he began