Soon after this my books were brought to me, and I could also use the prison library. After being for so long prevented from reading, this was a great boon; and as writing materials were also allowed me, I was altogether far better off here than in the Fortress of Peter and Paul. Still, the little cell with its stone floor became a perfect oven in the heat of summer, most unpleasantly stuffy and dusty; and the food was inferior both in quantity and quality. But the walks were what was most disagreeable. Imagine a huge circle, divided into sections by partitions running from centre to circumference. In these cattle-pens we were allowed to disport ourselves singly, carefully watched all the while by warders stationed on a raised platform at the centre of the circle, commanding all the “cattle-pens”; so that the prisoners had no chance of communicating with each other. One could see nothing but the wooden partitions, the back of the prison buildings, and a narrow strip of sky; but every day we had to breathe the air here for three-quarters of an hour, which seemed an endless time for such “recreation.” In comparison with the uncanny stillness of the fortress, things here seemed full of life and bustle. The windows of the corridor looked into the street, and its noises could be heard in the cells—the rumbling of carriages, the cries of street-hawkers, or the dulcet music of an organ-grinder. One felt so near freedom that the burden of prison life was the heavier. One day I heard unusually lively sounds in the corridor—scrubbing, sweeping, and a general tidying-up. Some important visit seemed to be expected, and I soon learned that the Minister of Justice, Nabòkov, was coming to inspect the prison. Shortly after, he appeared in my cell, accompanied by a numerous suite; and when my name was pronounced, he greeted me and said— “I have read your deposition, and was much pleased with its frankness. I hope you will speak out in the same way before the court.” I replied that, as I have already said, it was my object to state the exact historical truth. He went, but came back again, and put one or two unimportant questions to me, looking, however, as though there were something else he would have liked to say. He bent forward a little in speaking, and held his hand to his ear. His whole bearing was simple and unaffected. Kotliarèvsky was among the suite. He remained behind a moment, and told me he wanted to speak to me when the minister had gone. Some time after I was taken to him in a room that served as the prison schoolroom. “I am not here on business,” said he, “but I should like to have a chat with you about old times.” So we sat down on a school-form and talked. Following a remark of mine, Kotliarèvsky touched on the question I had raised before as to the reason for my confinement in the Fortress of Peter and Paul.