nd off he goes.
There inside the walls they know the time when this will be done, and
will ask the criminals to arrange an uproar, or they'll arrange it
themselves, and those who need it will go up the ladder over the
wall--one, two, it's done. And they calmly proceed to the city because
the chase throws itself first of all on the vacant lot and the
cemetery."

He gesticulated rapidly in front of the mother's face, drawing his
plan, the details of which were clear, simple, and clever. She had
known him as a clumsy fellow, and it was strange to her to see the
pockmarked face with the high cheek bones, usually so gloomy, now
lively and alert. The narrow gray eyes, formerly harsh and cold,
looking at the world sullenly with malice and distrust, seemed to be
chiseled anew, assuming an oval form and shining with an even, warm
light that convinced and moved the mother.

"You think of it--by day, without fail by day. To whom would it occur
that a prisoner would make up his mind to escape by day in the eyes of
the whole prison?"

"And they'll shoot him down," the woman said trembling.

"Who? There are no soldiers, and the overseers of the prison use their
revolvers to drive nails in."

"Why, it's very simple--all this."

"And you'll see it'll all come out all right. No. You speak to them.
I have everything prepared already--the rope ladder, the screw hooks; I
spoke to my host, he'll be the lamplighter."

Somebody stirred noisily at the door and coughed, and iron clanked.

"There he is!" exclaimed Nikolay.

At the open door a tin bathtub was thrust in, and a hoarse voice said:

"Get in, you devil."

Then a round, gray, hatless head appeared. It had protruding eyes and
a mustache, and wore a good-natured expression. Nikolay helped the man
in with the tub. A tall, stooping figure strode through the door. The
man coughed, his shaven cheeks puffing up; he spat out and greeted
hoarsely:

"Good health to you!"

"There! Ask him!"

"Me? What about?"

"About the escape."

"Ah, ah!" said the host, wiping his mustache with black fingers.

"There, Yakob Vasilyevich! She doesn't believe it's a simple matter!"

"Hm! she doesn't believe! Not to believe means not to want to believe.
You and I want to, and so we believe." The old man suddenly bent over
and coughed hoarsely, rubbed his breast for a long time, while he stood
in the middle of the room panting for breath and scanning the mother
with wide-open