Their mouths seemed to open, some sounds were heard; then they moved their feet and disappeared.

And nothing more.
Thus would a man feel if he were at night alone in his house and suddenly all objects were to come to life, start to move and overpower him.

And suddenly they would all begin to judge him: the cupboard, the chair, the writing-table and the divan.

He would cry and toss about, entreating, calling for help, while they would speak among themselves in their own language, and then would lead him to the scaffold,--they, the cupboard, the chair, the writing-table and the divan.

And the other objects would look on.
To Vasily Kashirin, who was condemned to death by hanging, everything now seemed like children's playthings: his cell, the door with the peephole, the strokes of the wound-up clock, the carefully molded fortress, and especially that mechanical puppet with the gun who stamped his feet in the corridor, and the others who, frightening him, peeped into his cell through the little window and handed him the food in silence.