In the middle of each room hung a lamp with a dark shade—lamps that we had ourselves provided. Our table was narrow and long, so that a number of persons necessarily sat where the light was very poor, insufficient for work of any kind; and this, of course, was a misfortune for everyone, as those condemned to idleness disturbed the more advantageously placed who wanted to study. Even had there not been this drawback, serious concentration of mind would have been difficult in a small room wherein were congregated sixteen men of very different temperaments and inclinations. The needful quiet could rarely be obtained, for it would have been impossible to enforce silence during the long winter evenings; on the contrary, when one sat down to work at night tongues were loosened, and there began a constant hubbub of chatter and laughter. Anyone who was really bent on earnest study had to devise a special plan: he became what we called a “Sirius.” This meant that as soon as it became dusk he went to bed till midnight, and then, while the rest were asleep, got up and worked till dawn, when Sirius rises above the horizon; after which he lay down for another two hours’ rest. It needed an overwhelming desire for learning and considerable powers of endurance to become a “Sirius”; it was difficult to rest when the comrades were chattering and making a noise all around one, and when one had at last managed to get off to sleep, it seemed immediately time to wake up again. The dividing of the night’s rest is not an easy thing to stand; in spite of my efforts I could never accustom myself to it; yet there were some among us—though not many—who were numbered among the “Siriuses” all the time I was at Kara. Yatzèvitch, and two others of whom I shall have more to say, Kalyushny and Adrian Mihailov, kept to this mode of life during that whole period. * * * * * I must mention one custom that had taken root in the prison, into which I was very soon initiated. We were in the middle of a lively conversation one morning, just after my arrival, when M., one of the comrades, turned to me with the question— “What do you say, Deutsch; will the Tsar soon be made an end of?” “Oh no,” I replied, “I don’t think he’ll be killed. The man will probably end his days peacefully in his bed.”