l, illuminating a dark spot of dampness and
pictures from journals. On the floor old pails were lying around,
fragments of slate iron. A large, bright star out in the high darkness
shone into the window. The odor of mildew, paint, and damp earth
filled the room.

Ignaty was dressed in a thick autumn overcoat of shaggy material. It
pleased him; the mother observed how he stroked it admiringly with the
palm of his hand, how he looked at himself, clumsily turning his
powerful neck. Her bosom beat tenderly with, "My dears, my children,
my own."

"There!" said Ignaty, rising. "You'll remember, then? First you go to
Muratov and ask for grandfather."

"I remember."

But Ignaty was still distrustful of Nikolay's memory, and reiterated
all the instructions, words, and signs, and finally extended his hand
to him, saying:

"That's all now. Good-by, comrade. Give my regards to them. I'm
alive and strong. The people there are good--you'll see." He cast a
satisfied glance down at himself, stroked the overcoat, and asked the
mother, "Shall I go?"

"Can you find the way?"

"Yes. Good-by, then, dear comrades."

He walked off, raising his shoulders high, thrusting out his chest,
with his new hat cocked to one side, and his hands deep in his pockets
in most dignified fashion. On his forehead and temples his bright,
boyish curls danced gayly.

"There, now, I have work, too," said Vyesovshchikov, going over to the
mother quietly. "I'm bored already--jumped out of prison--what for?
My only occupation is hiding--and there I was learning. Pavel so
pressed your brains--it was one pure delight. And Andrey, too,
polished us fellows zealously. Well, Nilovna, did you hear how they
decided in regard to the escape? Will they arrange it?"

"They'll find out day after to-morrow," she repeated, sighing
involuntarily. "One day still--day after to-morrow."

Laying his heavy hand on her shoulder, and bringing his face close to
hers, Nikolay said animatedly:

"You tell them, the older ones there--they'll listen to you. Why, it's
very easy. You just see for yourself. There's the wall of the prison
near the lamp-post; opposite is an empty lot, on the left the cemetery,
on the right the streets--the city. The lamplighter goes to the
lamppost; by day he cleans the lamp; he puts the ladder against the
wall, climbs up, screws hooks for a rope ladder onto the top of the
wall, lets the rope ladder down into the prison yard, a