“Paul Pavlov?” says the presiding councillor, and then, after favoring me with a fugitive glance, he bends once more over his books. “Yes, your nobleness,” I reply, doing my best to speak and look like a peasant prisoner. “For what crime were you judged?” “For burglary, your nobleness.” “Are the effects given you by the Government all in order?” “They are, your nobleness.” “Two shirts, two pairs of drawers, woollen trousers, great coat, pelisse, a pair of boots, leg irons?” enumerated the councillor, in a rapid, monotonous voice. As each article is named, I say, “It is here,” and during the interrogation an obscure personage fumbles in my bag to verify my statement. This concluded the inspection, and after surrendering my fetters, which I removed without the help of a blacksmith, I passed into the apartment where I was to remain as a prisoner until they took me to the village where I had to be interned as a settler. I had not long to wait. The fifth day after our arrival, the remaining vagabonds of the gang were sent further east, and there remained only the ordinary exiles and prisoners under sentence of penal servitude. An important consequence of the departure of the vagabonds—old offenders who formed the bulk of the convoy—was the break-up of our communistic organisation, and the subsequent revelation of my secret. On the following day the involuntary colonists, of whom I was now one, started for our final destination, a village some forty miles from Irkoutsk, and on November 1st, we arrived at Talminsky, the end of our long journey. For the last time we were paraded and counted in the court of the _volost_. Then, after our effects had been again examined, we received our registers and were handed over to the clerk of the village, who had orders to find us quarters. The escort went one way, we went another, and we walked through the streets of the great village free men—within the limits assigned to us. THE FLIGHT.