When I entered the room I found there two well-dressed young ladies, a middle-aged gentleman with a black beard, and an officer in full uniform. One of the ladies stood close by the door, and I held out my hand to greet her; but she drew back and stared at me, looking surprised and rather alarmed. Evidently she took me for some bold criminal! Smiling, I gave my name; and the girl instantly grasped my hand, and shook it warmly with many apologies. She was Anna Ptshèlkina’s sister, come to say farewell to the exile. “I really am afraid of you!” she said, with a friendly glance, smiling rather shamefacedly. The black-bearded man was Malyòvany. The other lady, with a delicate-looking but sympathetic and expressive face, was Anna Ptshèlkina, who was being sent to Western Siberia for three years. The officer was Captain Vòlkov, commanding our convoy. We exiles were naturally friends directly, and at once engaged in eager conversation. With my shaven head, clattering fetters, and convict’s dress, I contrasted oddly with the others, who looked civilised and respectable. In the faces of the two sisters, especially in that of the younger, I plainly read the most romantic interest in my fate. Probably she now for the first time beheld a Socialist, stamped outwardly as a criminal and deprived of all civil rights, going forth to a gloomy future. She begged me, if there were any special thing I would like to have, to write it down; and handed me a pencil and paper that she might keep my note as a reminder. I wrote down the titles of some mathematical text-books, and she promised to send them; but she either forgot all about it, or lost my elegant autograph—at all events, the books never arrived. Malyòvany and Anna Ptshèlkina were then taken in a carriage to the station, while I—though also invited to drive—preferred to go on foot. So I marched with the rest of the party, rattling my chains, along the streets of my native town. When, and under what circumstances, should I see it again?