His words completely crushed Yevsey. He walked forward with out-stretched hands, and bumped against the wall. When he heard the heavy clang of the iron door behind him, he squatted on the floor, putting his hands about his knees and raising his knees to his drooping head. A heavy silence descended upon him. It seemed to him he would die instantly. Suddenly he jumped from the floor, and ran about the room like a mouse. His groping hands felt the palette covered with a rough blanket, a table, a chair. He ran to the door, touched it, noticed in the wall opposite a little square window, and rushed toward the window. It was below the level of the ground. The area between the ground and the outer wall was laid over with horizontal bars through which the snow sifted with a soft swish, creeping down the dirty panes. Klimkov turned noiselessly toward the door, and leaned his forehead upon it. "Forgive me. Let me out," he whispered in his anguish. Then he dropped on the floor again, and lost consciousness, drowned in a wave of despair. CHAPTER XIII The days and nights dragged along in black and grey stripes, slowly poisoning Yevsey's soul, biting into it and enfeebling it. They crept by in dumb stillness, filled with ominous threats and forebodings. They said nothing of when they would end their slow racking course. In Yevsey's soul everything grew silent and numb. He did not dare, was unable to, think; and when he paced his cage, he tried to make his steps inaudible. On the tenth day he was again set before the man in the blue glasses. The man who had brought him there the first time was also present. "Not very pleasant, eh, Klimkov?" the dark man asked, smacking his thick red lower lip. His high voice made an odd splashing sound as if he were laughing inside himself. The reflection of the electric light upon the blue glass of his spectacles sent strong rays into Yevsey's empty breast, and filled him with slavish readiness to do everything necessary to end these slimy days which sank into darkness and threatened madness. "Let me go," he said quietly. "Yes, I will, and more besides. I will take you into the service. Now you will yourself put people into the place from which you have just been taken--into the same place and into other cosy little rooms." He laughed, smacking his lip. Klimkov bowed. "The late Lukin interceded for you; and in memory of his honest service I will give you a position. You will receive twenty-five rubles a month to begin with." His words entered Yevsey's breast and memory, and disposed themselves in a row, as if a commanding hand had written them there. He bowed again. "This man, Piotr Petrovich, will be your chief and teacher. You must do everything he tells you. Do you understand?" He turned to the other man. "So it's decided--he will live with you." "Very well," came the response with unexpected loudness. "That will be more convenient for me." "All right."