attached to
my manacles causes intense pain in my arms, and a rough voice cries
"Back." Back? Why? I do not want to abandon Nadine, and instinctively I
grasp the bed behind me. Another and a stronger jerk, I stumble, and a
piece of broken glass pierces my thin shoe, and cuts my foot, and I am
pulled backwards. I am now against that part of the wall where, at the
height of about three feet, there is an iron ring, and whilst one of the
soldiers attaches my chain to this ring Nadine is dragged towards the
opposite wall.

All this passes quickly in our cell, and the soldiers are soon gone and
the door closed and locked. But in other cells prisoners resist, and as
the struggle goes on and the noise increases so does the beating of my
heart, and to me the tumult takes the proportions of a thunderstorm,
and, broken down, I listen for some time without understanding the
reason for the uproar.

Slowly the noises die away. Nadine, either calmed or worn out, sobs
quietly, and in this relative peace, the first for several hours, my
mind becomes clearer, and I begin to have some idea of what is passing
in and around me.

My principal preoccupation is Nadine. She is pale, and appears to be so
exhausted that I momentarily expect her to faint and remain suspended by
the chains that rattle as she sobs. With a negative motion of her head
and a few words, she assures me that the crisis is passed, that her arms
pain her very much, and that she is very thirsty. Chained a few steps
away, I cannot render her the slightest aid, and the thought of my
helplessness is a cruel suffering. I, too, suffer in the arms. Heavy,
they feel as though overrun and stung by thousands of insects, and, when
I move, that sensation is changed to one of intense pain. My foot, too,
is very painful, and as the blood oozes from my shoe it forms a pool,
and I am very thirsty. All these sensations are lost in my extreme
nervous excitement and anxiety for the others, who are now quiet, and
for Nadine, from whom I instinctively turn my eyes.

It is very warm, and through the broken window I see a large patch of
sky, so transparent and luminous that my eyes, long accustomed to the
twilight of my cell, can hardly stand the brightness. There is light
everywhere. The walls, dry and white at this period of the year, are
flooded with light, and the sun's rays, as they fall on the broken glass
on the floor, produce thousands of bright star-like points, flashing and
fillin