ces were brought before him; and
their weary, anxious faces induced him to exclaim loudly, and in his
native tongue--"Yes, I am a Pole, and have returned because I could
not bear exile from my native land any longer. Here I wished to live
inoffensive and quiet, confiding my secret to a few countrymen; and I
have nothing more to say." An immediate order was made out for the
culprit's departure to Kiev. According to the story he has published
his sufferings were frightful, and were not lessened when they stopped
at a hut, where some rusty chains were brought out, the rings of which
were thrust over his ankles: they proved much too small, and the rust
prevented the bars from turning in the sockets, so that the pain was
insupportable. He was rudely carried and thrown into the carriage, and
thus arrived in an almost insensible condition at the fortress of
Kiev.

After many months' detention in this prison, being closely watched and
badly treated, he was sentenced to hard labor in Siberia for life,
degraded from his rank as a noble, and ordered to make the journey in
chains. As soon as this was read to him, he was taken to a kibitka,
with three horses, irons were put on, and he was placed between two
armed soldiers; the gates of the fortress were shut, and the road to
Siberia was before him. An employee came up to M. Piotrowski, and
timidly offered him a small packet, saying--"Accept this from my
saint." The convict not understanding, he added, "You are a Pole, and
do not know our customs. It is my fete-day, when it is above all a
duty to assist the unfortunate. Pray, accept it, then, in the name of
my saint, after whom I am called." The packet contained bread, salt,
and money.

Night and day the journey continued, with the utmost rapidity, for
about a month, when, in the middle of the night, they stopped at the
fortress of Omsk, where he was placed for a few hours with a young
officer who had committed some breach of discipline. They talked on
incessantly until the morning, so great was the pleasure of meeting
with an educated person. A map of Siberia was in the room, which
Piotrowski examined with feverish interest. "Ah!" said his companion,
"are you meditating flight? Pray, do not think of it: many of your
fellow-countrymen have tried it, and never succeeded."

At midday he was brought before Prince Gortchakoff, and the critical
moment of his fate arrived: he might either be sent to some of the
government factories in