to her back being turned towards the light, I can only
vaguely distinguish, appears to be either a servant, or a woman of the
people; she alone enters my cell.

This apparition causes a shudder to go through my entire being. I have
before now heard of an atrocious and odious proceeding, of a special
search, for the carrying out of which the prisoners, gagged and strapped
on their beds, or to the iron rings found in the walls of the cells of
all political prisons, are reduced to absolute helplessness, while men
and women appointed to this work examine their mouths, their hair, their
ears, every fold of their garments and of their bodies, in the search
for some scrap of paper hidden at the last moment, and on which,
perchance, may be found a name or an address.

The sudden remembrance of these examinations[1] exasperates and freezes
me with terror. I rise and stand trembling by the side of my bed, with
arms outstretched to defend myself, while I follow each of my visitor's
movements, and question her, "What does she require? Why has she come?"
She neither replies nor turns her head, but gathers up the garments I
have taken off, together with the few toilet necessaries I have placed
on the table, then turning towards me she extends her right arm. I start
back, and my question, "What do you require of me?" becomes almost a
scream.

[1] These examinations of the person only take place in cases of
exceptional gravity. On the other hand, it is not prisoners alone who
have to submit to the ordeal, but all persons suspected of concealing
papers, Russian travellers returning from abroad, &c., &c.

Ah! no--happily, no!--it is only to take the fur mantle that I have used
to cover my feet, and that, silently, and with the same noiseless
footsteps, my ghostly visitor takes away, together with my other
effects.

Are they to be examined, or are they simply taken away in order to be
replaced by the prisoner's garb? I know not, and the question is one of
perfect indifference to me. But the clang of iron bars and padlocks
being replaced on the door, all this noise of iron, which so painfully
affected me an hour ago, I now listen to with a sigh of relief.

[Illustration: "TURNING TOWARDS ME, SHE EXTENDS HER RIGHT ARM."]

This noise, and possibly my cry, appears to have awakened some of the
other prisoners. I hear blows struck on the doors; voices, unknown to
me, or rendered unrecognisable by reason of the thickness of these
cu