"The devil take you!" said he, spitting on the ground. "Why do you show your teeth? This is no wine-shop!"
"And I, I do not want to be hanged! Ha! ha! ha!"
Yanson laughed always.
"Satan!" replied the guard, crossing himself.
All the evening Yanson was calm, and even joyous. He repeated the phrase that he had uttered: "I must not be hanged," and so convincing, so irrefutable was it that he had no occasion for anxiety. He had long since forgotten his crime; sometimes he simply regretted that he had not succeeded in raping the woman. Soon he thought no more about the matter.
Every morning Yanson asked when he would be hanged, and every morning the guard answered him angrily:
"You have time enough." And he went out quickly, before Yanson began to laugh.
Thanks to this invariable exchange of words, Yanson persuaded himself that the execution would never take place; for whole days he lay upon his bed, dreaming vaguely of the desolate and snow-covered fields, of the buffet at the railway station, and also of things farther away and more luminous. He was well fed in prison, he took on flesh.
"She would love me now," he said to himself, thinking of his master's wife. "Now I am as big as her husband."
He had only one desire—to drink brandy and course madly over the roads with his horse at full gallop.
When the terrorists were arrested, the whole prison learned of it. One day, when Yanson put his customary
