“Ah yes!” cried one of the ladies. “We shall all meet in Petersburg at the triumph of the Russian revolution.” For her, at least, that hope was vain. Natalia Armfeld died at Kara in 1887, and Raissa Prybylyèva (who married afterwards the exile Tiutchev) is also no longer among the living. Kostyùrin still lives in Tobolsk; but since that day our paths have never again crossed. * * * * * Tchuikòv and I were now taken to the guard-room, which was close to the prison. Our arrival was notified; and soon there appeared, accompanied by some of the gendarmes, the governor of the prison, an officer of Cossacks named Bolshakov, a man who had been described to us by our comrades as respectable and humane. We and our luggage were carefully searched. Of our clothes only our warm under-garments were left in our possession; everything else was to be taken to the wardrobe-room, except certain articles which were reserved that Commandant Nikolin might decide whether we should be permitted to retain possession of them. “You need not put the fetters on again,” said the captain of the guard, Golubtsòv. “They are not necessary here.” It was evening before we were ready to be taken on by the gendarmes to the prison—the goal of my long wanderings. Since my arrest in Freiburg twenty-two months had elapsed; I had travelled about 12,000 versts (nearly 8,000 miles), and I had visited more than a hundred different prisons. “Guard, there!” cried our escort. A bolt flew back with a crash, and we stepped across the threshold. [Illustration: MARTINOVSKY] [Illustration: STARINKYEVITCH] [Illustration: SUNDELEVITCH] [Illustration: ZLATOPOLSKY] [Illustration: PRYBYLYEV] [Illustration: YEMELYANOV] To face page 208 CHAPTER XXII FIRST DAYS AT KARA—FRIENDS OLD AND NEW We entered a long, dimly-lighted corridor. Close to the door stood a man in convict dress beside a mighty chest. “Good day, Martinòvsky!” said I; for although I had never seen him before, I knew from our comrades’ descriptions that he, being _stàrosta_, remained on duty from early morning till late evening by this big chest, which was the prisoners’ larder. He looked a little surprised at the greeting, but on our announcing our names a pleasant smile lighted up his grave features, and he shook hands with us warmly. “Deutsch goes to No. 2 and Tchuikòv to No. 4!” The gendarme’s announcement interrupted us. A door was opened, and I stepped into my room. It was a large apartment; a long table and benches stood in the middle; round three walls ran the bed-shelves; there was a huge stove, and three great windows admitted plenty of light.