"Sto-op! I bid you stop and you stop. Don't struggle, you dirty
dog! If you want to stay among the living, stop and hold your tongue
till I tell you. It's only that I don't care to spill blood or you
would have been a dead man long ago, you scurvy rascal. . . . Stop!"

The watchman's knees give way under him. In his terror he shuts his
eyes, and trembling all over huddles close to the wall. He would
like to call out, but he knows his cries would not reach any living
thing. The stranger stands beside him and holds him by the arm. . . .
Three minutes pass in silence.

"One's in a fever, another's asleep, and the third is seeing pilgrims
on their way," mutters the stranger. "Capital watchmen, they are
worth their salary! Ye-es, brother, thieves have always been cleverer
than watchmen! Stand still, don't stir. . . ."

Five minutes, ten minutes pass in silence. All at once the wind
brings the sound of a whistle.

"Well, now you can go," says the stranger, releasing the watchman's
arm. "Go and thank God you are alive!"

The stranger gives a whistle too, runs away from the gate, and the
watchman hears him leap over the ditch.

With a foreboding of something very dreadful in his heart, the
watchman, still trembling with terror, opens the gate irresolutely
and runs back with his eyes shut.