"It is a strange situation, but as I am anxious to learn the Russian language, why, I will take almost any chance to do it, and to oblige you, doctor."
And with this understanding Barnwell went to the cell of old Peter Batavsky.
He found him indeed a character, even if he was insane at times.
He was at least seventy years of age, bent and bowed by hard work and long imprisonment.
His thin hair was white, and his skin like old parchment, but his eyes were bright, and even in his age showed the fires of youth, as well as a high-born nature, all of which had not yet been crushed out of him by misfortune.
But in youth he must have been a magnificent specimen of physical manhood, standing at least six feet in height, and the surgeon had told him that he belonged to a wealthy and influential family up to the time of his apostacy.
He occupied a narrow cell, in which he secluded himself almost continually, holding no intercourse with his fellow-unfortunates.
To this cell young Barnwell made his way, armed with the surgeon's request, which he at once made known to him.
The old man looked him all over in the most scrutinizing manner, for his great hallucination was that he was beset with spies who were bound to bring him before the secret tribunal.
But there was something about the old lunatic which attracted the young American, and there seemed to be a counter attraction between them.