I could not help laughing heartily: the assiduous friendliness of this worthy, who, as a matter of fact, was always looking out for his own advancement, appeared now in quite a new light. Apart from the fact that (as I heard afterwards from the policemen in my cell) he drew a considerable profit, not only from my food, but even on the books he got me, he also had his eye on the reward he would receive if he could induce me to confess to being Degàiev. The Russian Government had put a price of 10,000 roubles on that man’s head, and his name was in every European newspaper. I stayed in this prison until nightfall, when I was fetched away by three policemen in plain clothes. Every time that my guards were changed I was searched, but nothing was found. Before starting on our journey, the Frankfort police put chains on me, not heavy or thick, and quite inconspicuous, as they were attached under my clothes; but they hindered any quick movement, and of course made running impossible. I protested vehemently against this indignity; but they declared they had received special instructions, and had no choice in the matter, so I had to submit. Even this was not their final precaution. When we passed on to the railway platform, one man, a giant in stature, took me by the arm in a friendly way; another went a few steps in front, and the third came a little behind, so that we must have appeared to the uninitiated like a trio of boon companions. We installed ourselves in a carriage among the ordinary travellers, and it probably never dawned on any of them that they were sitting cheek by jowl with a fettered prisoner. I could not help thinking of the proverb used by our Russian peasants to describe German ingenuity:—“The Germans are too clever for anything; they’ve even invented apes!” I must say that my guardians behaved very civilly to me, although with formal strictness. So far as their orders permitted, they showed me many little kindnesses. In the _Begleitschein_ with which I was given into their custody I was entered as “the so-called Bulìgin,” and by this name I went until I was handed over to the Russians. There was no thinking of escape on this journey. My escort never let me out of their sight for a second, never stirred from my side, and watched my slightest movements. They did not enter into conversation with me, nor had I any inclination to gossip with them. I felt heavy at heart, enervated, and exhausted. My mind seemed dormant, nothing attracted my attention during the whole journey; I seemed to hear and see nothing that went on around me, but to lie wrapped in a dreary apathy. “What must be must be,” I said to myself, if a thought of the future arose. Reaction had set in after the painful excitement of the last days in Freiburg.