But you, old man--" I do not remember what he said after that--it is so hard to recall all the childish chatter of this kind, but unfortunately too light-minded young man.

I remember only that we parted as friends, and he pressed my hand warmly, expressing to me his sincere gratitude, even calling me, so far as I can remember, his "saviour." By the way, I succeeded in convincing the Warden that the portrait of even such a man as I, after all a prisoner, was out of place in such a solemn official room as the office of our prison.

And now the portrait hangs on the wall of my cell, pleasantly breaking the cold monotony of the pure white walls.
Leaving for a time our artist, who is now carried away by the portrait of the Warden, I shall continue my story..