"You are wondering how you will manage to get forty winks here, eh, comrade? Yes, it's a difficult matter, I warrant you; all the places are taken, and each one has a right to his own. Unless Pápis will let you have his corner for the night, I really don't see how you are going to manage it." "Why not, pray?" exclaimed a voice from another corner. "Of course I will, if I get well paid for it!" Pápis was a gipsy felon, already pretty advanced in years, his complexion wrinkled and tanned like parchment, yet his hair was quite black, and his teeth shone like ivory. "Bravo, Pápis!" cried the old man, while the lithe gipsy crawled between the others and grinned at Ráby. "Don't have any fear, Pápis," said Tsajkos, "the gentleman will pay you, sure enough; he has no end of money. How much do you want for your place?" The gipsy did not hesitate. "A ducat a day," he retorted promptly. Ráby began to enter into the humours of the situation. He reflected a minute on the proposal. "That is not much, after all," he said politely. "Ah, you are the right sort, you are," cried old Tsajkos. "I only hope you'll be long with us. You shall just see what a good place we'll make for you against the wall with no one on the other side, and my knees can be your pillow. We can't do feather beds down here, or even run to straw, but one sleeps soundest on the bricks after all." "But where will Pápis sleep himself?" For all his own misery, Ráby could not repress the question. The whole crew burst out laughing. As soon as they had stilled their mirth, the prisoners looked at each other embarrassed, and then at their leader to explain. The old man smiled slily. "Where will Pápis sleep? Why, in the bucket, to be sure, up above there," he answered. Ráby looked up, and saw from the roof two chains hanging, through the links of which two poles were thrust, and on these hung the great bucket in which every evening the prisoners had to carry the water needed in the kitchen of the Assembly House above. They showed him how Pápis got up. One of the prisoners seized the little gipsy by the legs and hauled him up to the roof, after which, Pápis took the cover off the bucket, crawled inside, and disappeared from sight. Ráby was still more astonished. "But how can the man sleep in that pail?" he asked, puzzled. Everyone laughed, but quickly suppressed it, and all looked again rather sheepish. Tsajkos patted Ráby's cheek patronisingly with his greasy hand, and cried, "Bless my stars! what a simple greenhorn it is; Pápis will sleep sounder to-night, thanks to you, on a comfortable bed." "How may that be?" "I'll whisper it in your ear. He will leave this place this evening on your account." "On my account, how can that be?" cried Ráby astounded. "Ay, sure enough, and come back early to-morrow morning again." "Why, how is it possible?"