Meanwhile Kowalski had begun to speak.
'Long ago,' he said—'it must be about forty years—I was exiled to the steppes of Orenburg. I was young and strong, I trusted in God and had confidence in men and in myself. I may have been right or I may have been wrong, but I thought it was my duty not to leave my energy to the chance of fate, but to try and find a wider field of activity than was open to me in this country. Homesickness too urged me on, and after two years I escaped….
'I was punished by being sent to Tomsk, but this did not daunt me. I started my life afresh with renewed energy, lived on bread and water until I had saved enough for what I needed, and escaped again….
'For this second flight I was punished as an obstinate backslider, and it took several years before I could make another attempt, but that time I got farther away than before. It was an unusually hard winter, I had no money and only insufficient clothing. My feet were frostbitten, and I lost my toes. That was a hard blow, especially as they sent me beyond the Yenessi this time.
'My situation was difficult; the country was dreary and desolate, it was hard to earn a living. But although I had no toes I managed to learn a trade or two, and one or the other used to bring me in a little income, small but sure.
'This time I waited six years, then, without regard for the state of my feet, I started off again….
'You see, I had no more confidence in my strength. I was ill and broken, it was not the same goal as before that drew me westwards…. I wanted to die there… to die there….
'I dreamt of dying on my mother's grave as of a great happiness.
'My life had been such that no one except my mother had ever been good to me; I had had no sweetheart, no wife, no children….
'And now, feeling weak and forsaken, I longed for the grave of this one being who had loved me.