ht, Musya was riding
along a broad, even road, while the easy springs of the carriage rocked
her and the little bells tinkled. All alarm and agitation had passed,
the fatigued body had dissolved in the darkness, and her joyously
wearied fancy calmly created bright images, carried away by their color
and their peaceful tranquillity. Musya recalled three of her comrades
who had been hanged but a short time before, and their faces seemed
bright and happy and near to her--nearer than those in life. Thus does a
man think with joy in the morning of the house of his friends where he
is to go in the evening, and a greeting rises to his smiling lips.

Musya became very tired from walking. She lay down cautiously on the cot
and continued to dream with slightly closed eyes. The clock-bell rang
unceasingly, stirring the mute silence, and bright, singing images
floated calmly before her. Musya thought:

"Is it possible that this is Death? My God! How beautiful it is! Or is
it Life? I do not know. I do not know. I will look and listen."

Her hearing had long given way to her imagination--from the first moment
of her imprisonment. Inclined to be very musical, her ear had become
keen in the silence, and on this background of silence, out of the
meagre bits of reality, the footsteps of the guards in the corridors,
the ringing of the clock, the rustling of the wind on the iron roof, the
creaking of the lantern--it created complete musical pictures. At first
Musya was afraid of them, brushed them away from her as if they were
the hallucinations of a sickly mind. But later she understood that she
herself was well, and that this was no derangement of any kind--and she
gave herself up to the dreams calmly.

And now, suddenly, she seemed to hear clearly and distinctly the sounds
of military music. In astonishment, she opened her eyes, lifted her
head--outside the window was black night, and the clock was striking.
"Again," she thought calmly, and closed her eyes. And as soon as she did
so the music resounded anew. She could hear distinctly how the soldiers,
a whole regiment, were coming from behind the corner of the fortress,
on the right, and now they were passing her window. Their feet beat time
with measured steps upon the frozen ground: One--two! One--two! She could
even hear at times the leather of the boots creaking, how suddenly some
one's foot slipped and immediately recovered its steps. And the music
came ever nearer--it was an en