XVI. "KEEP ON GRINDING, AND YOU'LL HAVE FLOUR"

I PASSED the night in the store-room, and nothing further happened,
except that on the following morning--a Sunday--I was removed to a small
chamber adjoining the schoolroom, and once more shut up. I began to hope
that my punishment was going to be limited to confinement, and found my
thoughts growing calmer under the influence of a sound, soft sleep, the
clear sunlight playing upon the frost crystals of the windowpanes, and
the familiar noises in the street.

Nevertheless, solitude gradually became intolerable. I wanted to move
about, and to communicate to some one all that was lying upon my
heart, but not a living creature was near me. The position was the more
unpleasant because, willy-nilly, I could hear St. Jerome walking about
in his room, and softly whistling some hackneyed tune. Somehow, I felt
convinced that he was whistling not because he wanted to, but because he
knew it annoyed me.

At two o'clock, he and Woloda departed downstairs, and Nicola brought me
up some luncheon. When I told him what I had done and what was awaiting
me he said:

"Pshaw, sir! Don't be alarmed. 'Keep on grinding, and you'll have
flour.'"

Although this expression (which also in later days has more than once
helped me to preserve my firmness of mind) brought me a little comfort,
the fact that I received, not bread and water only, but a whole