ing upon a political convict. I felt sure that her screams would soon bring the police, and I not only did not dare to be found by them in that place, but I did not dare to be connected with an affair that would lead to a police investigation. But it was very hard to hear that woman's screams and not to go to her relief.
The Krasnoyársk incident to which I refer was as follows: Frost and I early one evening went into the principal bookstore of Krasnoyársk to buy some provincial maps, writing-materials, note-books, and other things of that kind which we happened to need. We were followed into the house by two men in plain citizen's dress whom I had never before seen, and to whom at first I paid little attention. In a few moments, however, I discovered that one of them had attached himself to me and the other to Mr. Frost, and that they were mimicking or caricaturing, in a very offensive way, everything that we did. They were not intoxicated, they did not address any of their remarks to us; in fact they did not make any original remarks at all. They simply mimicked us. If I asked to see a map of the province of Yeniséisk, the man by my side also asked to see a map of the province of Yeniséisk, and did so with an elaborate imitation of my manner. If I went to another part of the store and expressed a desire for writing-paper, he went to the same part of the store and also expressed a desire for writing-paper. The intention to be offensive was so unmistakable, and the manifestation of it so extraordinary and deliberate, that I at once suspected some sort of police trap. No two sane and sober private citizens would follow perfect strangers into a bookstore and behave towards them in this studied and evidently preconcerted manner without some definite object. I could imagine no other object than the provocation of a fight, and as I could not afford just at that time to engage in a fight, there was nothing left for me to do but to transact my business as speedily as possible and to get out of the
