In the second half of the sixth year， the prisoner beganzealously to study languages， philosophy， and history. He fellon these subjects so hungrily that the banker hardly had timeto get books enough for him. In the space of four years aboutsix hundred volumes were bought at his request. It was whilethat passion lasted that the banker received the following letterfrom the prisoner： “My dear gaoler， I am writing these lines insix languages. Show them to experts. Let them read them. Ifthey do not find one single mistake， I beg you to give ordersto have a gun fired off in the garden. By the noise I shall knowthat my efforts have not been in vain. The geniuses of all agesand countries speak in different languages； but in them allburns the same flame. Oh， if you knew my heavenly happinessnow that I can understand them！” The prisoner’s desire wasfulfilled. Two shots were fired in the garden by the banker’sorder.
Later on， after the tenth year， the lawyer sat immovablebefore his table and read only the New Testament. The bankerfound it strange that a man who in four years had masteredsix hundred erudite volumes， should have spent nearly a yearin reading one book， easy to understand and by no meansthick. The New Testament was then replaced by the history ofreligions and theology.
During the last two years of his confinement the prisonerread an extraordinary amount， quite haphazard. Now he wouldapply himself to the natural sciences， then he would readByron or Shakespeare. Notes used to come from him in whichhe asked to be sent at the same time a book on chemistry，a text-book of medicine， a novel， and some treatise onphilosophy or theology. He read as though he were swimmingin the sea among broken pieces of wreckage， and in his desireto save his life was eagerly grasping one piece after another.
II
The banker recalled all this， and thought：
“Tomorrow at twelve o’clock he receives his freedom.
Under the agreement， I shall have to pay him two millions. If Ipay， it’s all over with me. I am ruined for ever …”
Fifteen years before he had too many millions to count， butnow he was afraid to ask himself which he had more of， moneyor debts. Gambling on the Stock-Exchange， risky speculation，and the recklessness of which he could not rid himself even inold age， had gradually brought his business to decay； and thefearless， self-confident， proud man of business had become anordinary banker， trembling at every rise and fall in the market.
“That cursed bet，” murmured the old man clutching his headin despair… “Why didn’t the man die？ He’s only forty yearsold. He will take away my last farthing， marry， enjoy life，gamble on the Exchange， and I will look on like an enviousbeggar and hear the same words from him every day： ‘I’mobliged to you for the happiness of my life. Let me help you.’
No， it’s too much！ The only escape from bankruptcy anddisgrace—is that the man should die.”
The clock had just struck three. The banker was listening.
In the house every one was asleep， and one could hear onlythe frozen trees whining outside the windows. Trying to makeno sound， he took out of his safe the key of the door whichhad not been opened for fifteen years， put on his overcoat， andwent out of the house. The garden was dark and cold. It wasraining. A damp， penetrating wind howled in the garden andgave the trees no rest. Though he strained his eyes， the bankercould see neither the ground， nor the white statues， nor thegarden wing， nor the trees. Approaching the garden wing， hecalled the watchman twice. There was no answer. Evidentlythe watchman had taken shelter from the bad weather and wasnow asleep somewhere in the kitchen or the greenhouse.
“If I have the courage to fulfil my intention，” thought the oldman， “the suspicion will fall on the watchman first of all.”
In the darkness he groped for the steps and the door andentered the hall of the garden-wing， then poked his way intoa narrow passage and struck a match. Not a soul was there.
Some one’s bed， with no bedclothes on it， stood there， and aniron stove loomed dark in the corner. The seals on the door thatled into the prisoner’s room were unbroken.
When the match went out， the old man， trembling fromagitation， peeped into the little window.
In the prisoner’s room a candle was burning dimly. Theprisoner himself sat by the table. Only his back， the hair onhis head and his hands were visible. Open books were strewnabout on the table， the two chairs， and on the carpet near thetable.
Five minutes passed and the prisoner never once stirred.
Fifteen years’ confinement had taught him to sit motionless.