This is exactly how K. expressed himself.  He said it loudly, even with an air of calmness.

“What do you mean to say by this, my youthful friend?”

“I wish to say that you may perish here, my old friend, but I shall leave this place.”

“You can’t escape from our prison,” I retorted, sternly.

“Have you tried?”

“Yes, I have tried.”

He looked at me incredulously and smiled.  He smiled!

“You are a coward, old man.  You are simply a miserable coward.”

I—­a coward!  Oh, if that self-satisfied puppy knew what a tempest of rage he had aroused in my soul he would have squealed for fright and would have hidden himself on the bed.  I—­a coward!  The world has crumbled upon my head, but has not crushed me, and out of its terrible fragments I have created a new world, according to my own design and plan; all the evil forces of life—­solitude, imprisonment, treachery, and falsehood—­all have taken up arms against me, but I have subjected them all to my will.  And I who have subjected to myself even my dreams—­I am a coward?

But I shall not tire the attention of my indulgent reader with these lyrical deviations, which have no bearing on the matter.  I continue.

After a pause, broken only by K.’s loud breathing, I said to him sadly: 

“I—­a coward!  And you say this to the man who came with the sole aim of helping you?  Of helping you not only in word but also in deed?”

“You wish to help me?  In what way?”

“I will get you paper and pencil.”

The artist was silent.  And his voice was soft and timid when he asked, hesitatingly: 

“And—­my drawings—­will remain?”

“Yes; they will remain.”

It is hard to describe the vehement delight into which the exalted young man was thrown; naive and pure-hearted youth knows no bounds either in grief or in joy.  He pressed my hand warmly, shook me, disturbing my old bones; he called me friend, father, even “dear old phiz” (!) and a thousand other endearing and somewhat naive names.  To my regret our conversation lasted too long, and, notwithstanding the entreaties of the young man, who would not part with me, I hurried away to my cell.

I did not go to the Warden of the prison, as I felt somewhat agitated.  At that remote time I paced my cell until late in the night, striving to understand what means of escaping from our prison that rather foolish young man could have discovered.  Was it possible to run away from our prison?  No, I could not admit and I must not admit it.  And gradually conjuring up in my memory everything I knew about our prison, I understood that K. must have hit upon an old plan, which I had long discarded, and that he would convince himself of its impracticability even as I convinced myself.  It is impossible to escape from our prison.

But, tormented by doubts, I measured my lonely cell for a long time, thinking of various plans that might relieve K.’s position and thus divert him from the idea of making his escape.  He must not run away from our prison under any circumstances.  Then I gave myself to peaceful and sound sleep, with which benevolent nature has rewarded those who have a clear conscience and a pure soul.