THE JAIL
I raised my head. From a corner a pair of dark eyes gazed at me from a large head,—Dr. Povich-Rosetti. "You happy man,—you can't sleep for joy, eh?" he said.
So it was not a dream. I will go on sleeping.
XXX.
And now everything was unravelled in the same way as it had been entangled.
Saturday passed off without any special incidents. Only Mr. Fels remarked to me towards evening that he did not believe in my release, that the governor had been amusing himself at my expense,—and he remarked this with an undisguised joy, which was easy to understand; in such a cell there is only one person whom a man does not begrudge the excursion to freedom,—and that is himself.
I slept peacefully, I had no dreams.
Sunday.
I rose without haste, during exercise I walked with the engineer who also had doubts about my liberty; I returned to number 60 and did my spell of marching with my batch. Then I sat down on my bed.
And now I began to feel strange. Like a man who in the waiting room of an out-of-the-way station is waiting for a train, which is sure to be very late. Doubts began to arise; who knows, perhaps this Frank,—Mr. Wilder came up to me and remarked that it certainly would not be today, but that he would like to be in my place, it would be tomorrow or the day after for certain.
And the day outside was magnificent. There was a golden flicker in the air, the sky was as blue as the glance of amorous azure eyes,—all my nerves were aquiver with a feverish unrest; and
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