"Pushkin," he answers softly; "Adrian Pushkin." "How long have you been confined at Solovetsk?" "Three years; about three years." "For what offense?" He stares in wonder, with a wandering light in his eye that tells his secret in a flash. "Have you been tried by any court?" The officer interferes; the sentinel on guard is called; and we are huddled by the soldiers--doing what they are told--from the prisoner's cell. "What has he done?" I ask the fathers, when the door is slammed upon the captive's face. "We do not know, except in part. He is condemned by the Holy Governing Synod. He denies our Lord." More than this could not be learned. "A mad young man," sighs the monk; "he might have gone home long ago; but he would not send for a pope, and kiss the cross. He is now of better mind; if one can say he has any mind. A mad young man!" There is yet another flight of steps. "Let us go up and see the whole." We climb the stair, and find a second sentinel in the second anteroom. More prisoners, then, in this upper ward! The door which leads into the corridor being opened, the visitor sees that here again the cells are empty, and the doors ajar--in every case but one. A door is locked; and in the cell behind that door they say an old man lodges; a prisoner in the convent for many years. "How long?" "One hardly knows," replies the monk: "he was here when most of us came to Solovetsk. He is an obstinate fellow; quiet in his ways; but full of talk; he worries you to death; and you can teach him nothing. More than one of our Archimandrites, having pity on his case, has striven to lead him into a better path. An evil spirit is in his soul." "Who is he?" "A man of rank; in his youth an officer in the army." "Then you know his name?" "We never talk of him; it is against the rules. We pray for him, and such as he is; and he needs our prayers. A bad Russian, a bad Christian, he denies our holy Church." "Does he ever go out?" "In winter, yes; in summer, no. He might go to mass; but he refuses to accept the boon. He says we do not worship God aright; he thinks himself wiser than the Holy Governing Synod--he! But in winter days, when the pilgrims have gone away, he is allowed to walk on the rampart wall, attended by a sentinel to prevent his flight." "Has he ever attempted flight?" "Attempted! Yes; he got away from the convent; crossed the sea; went inland, and we lost him. If he could have held his peace, he might have been free to this very hour; but he could not hold his tongue; and then he was captured and brought back." "Where was he taken?" "No one knows. He came back pale and worn. Since then he has been guarded with greater care."