the contrary, the stronger
and the fresher his body became after the cold water, the keener and the
more unbearable became the sensations of his recurrent fear. And just at
those moments when, during his freedom, he had felt a special influx of
the joy and power of life,--in the mornings after he had slept soundly
and gone through his physical exercises,--now there appeared this
deadening fear which was so foreign to his nature. He noticed this and
thought:

"It is foolish, Sergey! To die more easily, you should weaken the body
and not strengthen it. It is foolish!"

So he dropped his gymnastics and the rub-downs. To the soldier he
shouted, as if to explain and justify himself:

"Never mind that I have stopped. It's a good thing, my friend,--but not
for those who are to be hanged. But it's very good for all others."

And, indeed, he began to feel somewhat better. He tried also to eat
less, so as to grow still weaker, but notwithstanding the lack of pure
air and exercises, his appetite was very good,--it was difficult for him
to control it, and he ate everything that was brought to him. Then he
began to manage differently--before starting to eat he would pour out
half into the pail, and this seemed to work. A dull drowsiness and
faintness came over him.

"I'll show you what I can do!" he threatened his body, and at the same
time sadly, yet tenderly he felt his flabby, softened muscles with his
hand.

Soon, however, his body grew accustomed to this regime as well, and
the fear of death appeared again--not so keen, nor so burning, but more
disgusting, somewhat akin to a nauseating sensation. "It's because they
are dragging it out so long," thought Sergey. "It would be a good idea
to sleep all the time till the day of the execution," and he tried to
sleep as much as possible. At first he succeeded, but later, either
because he had slept too much, or for some other reason, insomnia
appeared. And with it came eager, penetrating thoughts and a longing for
life.

"I am not afraid of this devil!" he thought of Death. "I simply feel
sorry for my life. It is a splendid thing, no matter what the pessimists
say about it. What if they were to hang a pessimist? Ah, I feel sorry
for life, very sorry! And why does my beard grow now? It didn't grow
before, but suddenly it grows--why?"

He shook his head mournfully, heaving long, painful sighs. Silence--then
a sigh; then a brief silence again--followed by a longer, deeper sigh.