But as to being an informer, that I was not....” “That’s true, Efim, you were not!” said the prisoner, with emphasis, and trembled violently. “It’s evident even now that you couldn’t have been an informer,” he added hastily. “That’s it!” exclaimed Efimushka. “I simply loved him--this fellow Vic.... Such a talented child he was! All loved him, not alone I.... Fine speeches he used to make.... I can’t remember any of them now--thirty years have passed since then.... Oh, Lord! Where is he now? If he is alive, he must be having a grand job, or else--he is having the very devil of a time of it.... Life is a most strange thing! It seethes and seethes--and still nothing comes of it.... And people perish.... It is pitiful, to the very death, how pitiful!” Efimushka, sighing deeply, inclined his head on his bosom.... There was a brief silence. “And are you sorry for me?” asked the prisoner cheerfully, while his face lit up with a good, kindly smile. “You are a queer one!” exclaimed Efimushka. “Why shouldn’t I feel sorry for you? What are you, when you come to think of it? If you are roaming about, that only shows that you haven’t a thing on earth of your own--not a corner, not a chip.... And, aside from that, perhaps you are burdened with some great sin--who knows? In a word, you’re a miserable man.” “That’s how it is,” replied the prisoner. Once more there was a pause. The sun had already set, and the shadows grew more dense. The air was fragrant with the fresh moisture of the earth, with the smell of flowers, and with that pungent odor that comes from the woods. For a long time they sat there in silence. “It is fine to sit here; but, for all that, we’ve got to go. Still eight more versts to do.... Come along, father; get up!” “Let’s sit here a while longer,” begged the other. “I don’t mind it myself--I love to be near the woods at night.... But when shall we ever get to the magistrate’s? I will catch it if I get there late.” “Never fear, they shan’t say anything.” “Perhaps you’ll put in a word for me,” said the deputy, with a smile. “I may.” “You?” “And why not?” “You’re a wag! He’ll try a little pepper on you.” “You mean, he’ll flog me?” “He’s a terror! And right clever, too. He’ll punch you with his fist on the ear, and I’ll warrant you--you’ll not be steady on your feet.” “We’ll see to that,” said the prisoner reassuringly, touching the convoy’s shoulder in a friendly manner. This familiarity did not please Efimushka. Everything else considered, he, after all, stood for the law, and this goose should bear in mind that Efimushka wore under his coat a brass badge. Efimushka arose, took his stick in his hand, rearranged the badge in a conspicuous place on his breast, and said gruffly: “Get up! We’ve got to be on the move.” “I am not going,” said the prisoner. Efimushka was nonplussed, and, opening his eyes wide, remained for the moment silent--not comprehending why the prisoner had become all of a sudden such a joker.