orthy of it? That I deserve that people should weep for me, should be
agitated over my fate, over such a little and insignificant girl?"

And she was seized with sudden joy. There were no doubts, no
hesitations--she was received into their midst--she entered justified the
ranks of those noble people who always ascend to heaven through fires,
tortures and executions. Bright peace and tranquillity and endless,
calmly radiant happiness! It was as if she had already departed from
earth and was nearing the unknown sun of truth and life, and was
in-corporeally soaring in its light.

"And that is--Death? That is not Death!" thought Musya blissfully.

And if scientists, philosophers and hangmen from the world over should
come to her cell, spreading before her books, scalpels, axes and nooses,
and were to attempt to prove to her that Death existed, that a human
being dies and is killed, that there is no immortality, they would only
surprise her. How could there be no deathlessness, since she was already
deathless? Of what other deathlessness, of what other death, could there
be a question, since she was already dead and immortal, alive in death,
as she had been dead in life?

And if a coffin were brought into her cell with her own decomposing body
in it, and she were told:

"Look! That is you!"

She would look and would answer:

"No, it is not I."

And if they should attempt to convince her, frightening her by the
ominous sight of her own decomposed body, that it was she--she, Musya,
would answer with a smile:

"No. You think that it is I, but it isn't. I am the one you are speaking
to; how can I be the other one?"

"But you will die and become like that."

"No, I will not die."

"You will be executed. Here is the noose."

"I will be executed, but I will not die. How can I die, when I am
already--now--immortal?"

And the scientists and philosophers and hangmen would retreat,
speaking--with a shudder:

"Do not touch this place. It is holy." What else was Musya thinking
about? She was thinking of many things, for to her the thread of life
was not broken by Death, but kept winding along calmly and evenly. She
thought of her comrades, of those who were far away, and who in pain
and sorrow were living through the execution together with them, and of
those near by who were to mount the scaffold with her. She was surprised
at Vasily--that he should have been so disturbed--he, who had always been
so brave, and who ha