“Do as I bid,” growled the man; “and look sharp; or it will be the worse for you.”
For a moment I did not move. I felt dazed.
“Now; do you hear?” cried he angrily, shaking me roughly by the arm.
I stooped over the prostrate man in order to unbutton the collar of his coarse coat, but in doing so my hand touched his chin. I withdrew it as if I had been stung, for it sent a thrill of horror through me. It was cold as ice.
I was to undress a dead man!
“Why do you hesitate?” the jailer asked gruffly. “Know you not that you must obey?”
“This man is dead!” I said, in alarm.
“And the best thing that could happen to him,” was the stern reply. “Now, how long am I to wait for you?”
His companion grinned at my abhorrence of the task, and uttered some words in Russian, which the other answered.
It was plain I had to obey my heartless janitor, so, kneeling beside the corpse, I managed, by dint of some exertion, to divest it of its grey kaftan, strong knee boots, and sheepskin bonnet. In these I attired myself, afterwards dressing the corpse in my own clothes.