“He says he loves you,” the tap-tap said, “and that it is he who ought to apologise. It was he who was unjust. As to his American scheme, he is happy to be here. It is sweet to be suffering for liberty, he says.”
Makar was at the other end of the same corridor, and a message from him reached Pavel by way of a dozen walls.
“Hello, old boy!” it said. “At last I have completed the revolutionary programme I have been so long engaged upon. It’s a dandy! It is not the same I spoke to you about in Moscow. It covers every point beautifully. It would save the party from every mistake it has ever made or is liable to make.”
One day Pavel learned that Clara had arrived in the fortress, after a long confinement and no end of examinations in Miroslav. She was in another part of the building and communicating with her was impossible. Pavel scarcely ever thought of anything else. Could it be true that she was in the building and he would not even have a chance to see her? He was fidgeting and writhing like a bird in a cage.
At last, on a morning, the wall brought him a message from her. It had come through walls, floors and ceilings.
“Clanya sends her love,” it ran, “and tells him to keep away from the damp walls as much as possible.”
“Tell Clanya I think of her day and night,” he rapped back.
Then a footstep sounded at his door, and with a heart swelling with emotion he threw himself upon his bed and buried his face in his hands.
THE END.