Wilfrid’s position seemed to weigh little with the chatty lieutenant; for, as they marched along, he took upon himself to point out to his prisoner various buildings of note, thinking, perhaps, that as Wilfrid was not long for this world, it would be a pity for him to pass out of it without taking with him some knowledge of so fine a city. “See Petersburg, and then die,” was evidently his motto. And as it is better to be cheerful than gloomy, Wilfrid tried to take an interest in the proffered remarks. “And what place is this?” he asked, as they passed by a wide, open space. “This is known as the Red Square.” “And that hillock in the centre——?” “Is where the condemned criminal stands.” “And the wooden pillar——?” “The post to which he is tied while receiving the knout.” “The knout. What is that?” asked Wilfrid with assumed innocence. “Now you jest, gospodin. ’Tis a whip.” “Does it—ah!—hurt?” “You’ll soon be in a position to judge.” “How so?” “You heard the Czar say that you are to be brought to the Red Square at the first parade in the morning.” “You mean that I am to be knouted?” “As surely as the sun will rise to-morrow. If the gospodin has any money or jewelry upon him, he had better entrust them to me.” “For what purpose?” “To bribe the executioner, so that he may accommodate you according to your taste.” “I fail somewhat to grasp your meaning.” “Why, look you, knouted you must be in some way or other, for the Czar will be present to see his orders carried out. Now, there are three ways of swinging the lash.” “Really? You interest me.” “First, there is the merciful way. The strokes are made to descend upon the back only; in which case one has a chance of surviving the lash, even though gunpowder be rubbed into the wounds and set on fire.” “Is that one of the features of the merciful way?” “The people sometimes demand it; it pleases them, and need not hurt you.” “How is the pain to be avoided?” “A bribe to the knouter, and he will, before beginning business, administer to you unseen a stupefying drug.” “Good! And the second way——?” “Ah, that is terrible, gospodin, terrible! The executioner causes the lash to coil entirely round the body, cutting the flesh as with the edge of a razor, laying the very bones and bowels bare. No one can survive this method, which is the one he’ll adopt, unless bribed to act otherwise.” “And the third way?” “Is the happy despatch; he kills at the very first stroke by breaking the spine. You have but to say which method you prefer and Vladimir will oblige. You’ll always find the friends of the condemned at Vladimir’s door on the eve of a knouting.” Wilfrid had no fear of death, as such, provided it should come in swift and painless guise. But death by knouting! To stand half-naked, on a grey, wintry morning in sight of a gaping crowd, his flesh hanging in strips from ribs and spine, was an end so dreadful that it might well have shaken the iron nerves of Zeno himself.