By degrees the days grew shorter, and I did not know how to pass the time during the long evenings, for I had no light. Often I ran up and down in my cell for hours together, till I was tired out. Sometimes I would station myself at the door, and listen to the conversation of my attendants. The policemen were the most entertaining; they relieved one another every twenty-four hours, and as it was only a few of the most trustworthy men in the force who took turns in this watch over me, I soon got to know them all. It was from them that the gendarme and I—almost equally prisoners—heard all the news, the gossip of the town, and so forth. Occasionally one of them would smuggle in a newspaper, which would then be read aloud in the select little club we formed. I would stick my hand with the paper in it through the peephole, so as to get some light, press my face against the opening, and read aloud to the others. The two soldiers would stand at ease beside the door, listening eagerly, while a few steps further off the policeman and the gendarme sat on their bench. If we had no newspaper, nor any special subject for talk, the policemen would tell tales of witches, demons, or the devil, to which the honourable members of the “club” listened with perhaps almost greater interest than to my political readings and disquisitions. In this way I learned from time to time what was going on in the world, despite the attempts of three high functionaries to prevent (as the governor of the gaol phrased it) even a fly getting into my cell. Moreover, I managed besides to get news that is not to be found in Russian journals, namely, accounts of events in revolutionary Russia. A man filling a rather high official position, a well-wisher to our cause, helped me to this. I owe much to him; but as I do not know whether he be still living or not, I dare not give his name, nor particulars of my relations with him, for fear of harm ensuing to himself. It is our rule never to speak fully about noble deeds done on behalf of revolutionists or the revolutionary movement unless the doers are either dead or in exile. I can only say that through this friend I was able to send letters to my comrades, and that he kept me informed of all that might interest me in external events. I learned, among other things, that the well-known revolutionists then living in exile in Paris—Peter Lavrov, Lopàtin, and Tihomìrov—had held a council upon the conduct of Degàiev[36]—then also in Paris—and had come to the conclusion that though certainly, in assisting to “remove” Soudyèhkin, Degàiev had rendered a service to the revolutionary cause, yet that he must refrain unconditionally from any further participation in our movement, and from associating in any way with revolutionists. I learned also that a young girl of twenty, Maria Kalyùshnaya,[37] had attempted to shoot Colonel Katànsky of the gendarmerie in his own house, but had not been successful.