ers, of whom he did not know whether they were alive or dead of fear and grief.
Towards the end we refused to associate with him any longer. When the hunger-strike began he was seized with terror—the most inexpressibly comical terror. He was evidently very fond of his stomach, poor little pig, and he was terribly afraid of his dear comrades, and also of the authorities. He wandered about among us in a state of perturbation, continually passing his handkerchief over his forehead, upon which something had exuded—was it tears or perspiration? Then he asked me in an irresolute manner:
"Shall you starve long?"
"For a long time," I sternly replied.
"But will you not eat anything on the sly?"
"Our mammas will send us pies," I acquiesced in all seriousness. He looked at me in doubt, nodded his head and went away with a sigh.
The next day, green as a paroquet with fear, he answered:
"Dear comrades! I also will starve with you."
We replied with one voice: "Starve by yourself!"
And he did starve! We did not believe it, just as you will not believe it: we thought that he ate something on the sly, and so too thought our guards. And when towards the end of the
