As I resume my walk in the stifling shade I detect that, from the windows of the basement there is issuing a smell of, in equal parts, rotten leather, mouldy grain, and dampness. To my mind there recur Tatiana's words: "Amid a great sorrow even a small joy becomes a great felicity," and, "I should like to build a village on some land of my own, and create for myself a new and better life." And to my recollection there recur also Tatiana's face and yearning, hungry breast. As I stand thinking of these things, there come dropping on to my head from above the low-spoken, ashen-grey words: "The chief conspirator in the matter was her lover, the son of a priest. He it was who engineered the plot. He has been sentenced to ten years penal servitude." "And she?" "Tatiana Vasilievna? To the same, and I also. I leave for Siberia the day after tomorrow. The trial was held at Kutair. In Russia I should have got off with a lighter sentence than here, for the folk in these parts are, one and all, evil, barbaric scoundrels." "And Tatiana, has she any children?" "How could she have while living such a rough life as this? Of course not! Besides, the priest's son is a consumptive." "Indeed sorry for her am I!" "So I expect." And in Konev's tone there would seem to be a touch of meaning. "The woman was a fool--of that there can be no doubt; but also she was comely, as well as a person out of the common in her pity for folk." "Was it then that you found her again?" "When?" "On that Feast of the Assumption?" "Oh no. It was only during the following winter that I came up with her. At the time she was serving as governess to the children of an old officer in Batum whose wife had left him." Something snaps behind me--something sounding like the hammer of a revolver. However, it is only the warder closing the lid of his huge watch before restoring the watch to his pocket, giving himself a stretch, and yawning to the utmost extent of his jaws. "You see, she had money, and, but for her restlessness, might have lived a comfortable life enough. As it was, her restlessness--" "Time for exercise is up!" shouts the warder. "Who are you?" adds Konev hastily. "Somehow I seem to remember your face; but I cannot place it." Yet so stung am I with what I have heard that I move away in silence: save that just as I reach the top of the steps I turn to cry: "Goodbye, mate, and give her my greeting." "What are you bawling for?" blusters the warder.... The corridor is dim, and filled with an oppressive odour. The warder swings his keys with a dry, thin clash, and I, to dull the pain in my heart, strive to imitate him. But the attempt proves futile; and as the warder opens the door of my cell he says severely: "In with you, ten-years man!"