h I am carried away, characteristics which
Serge and Aunt Vera have so often tried to repress. On the table is the
parcel of books found at my home at the time of my arrest. Where they
come from remains an enigma which I fear to touch, because its solution
may compromise some of my relatives and friends. Therefore, after I have
replied to sundry questions concerning my social status, I refuse to
answer any other. My refusal provokes much dissatisfaction, especially
on the part of Colonel P----, who resorts to heroic measures, promising,
if I speak, to immediately set me at liberty, but threatening, if I
refuse, a long imprisonment and, possibly, hard labour. After
half-an-hour devoted to a discussion, in which Mr. N---- takes
only a very small part, I am escorted to my cell, and informed that I
have a week in which to reflect. Tired out, nervously excited, I have
learnt nothing as to my probable fate. On the other hand, the large
sheet of white paper, which was intended for my confession, only bears
my name, age, address, and the statement that, _as to my political
opinions_, I am a revolutionary socialist, and this document I have
signed.

[Illustration: COLONEL P----.]

The scene in the Director's cabinet is renewed two or three times. I
take advantage of these examinations to ask for books and the removal of
the "blue angel," whose almost continual presence at the wicket of my
door is intended to keep me from communicating with my neighbours, to
render my life more miserable, to force me to confess, and to make it a
matter of impossibility for me to change my garments, or enjoy any
repose. Aunt Vera, to whom, according to prison regulations, I am
allowed to write once a month, works towards the same end. At last, one
fine day, Capt. W---- comes to my cell and informs me that,
morning or evening, when I desire it, I can dismiss the sentry for
half-an-hour. Two men who follow Capt. W---- bring in my large
travelling trunk, in which, among other things, I find part of my
boarding school trousseau, including bedding and the numbered knife,
fork, and spoon. At the same time, I obtain permission to take books
from the prison library. These consist principally of various editions
of the Gospels, and the dull "lives" of saints who never troubled
themselves about earthly affairs.

Thanks to these books, of which I soon get a selection, to be later on
replaced by others sent by Aunt Vera; thanks to the whiteness of my
quil