hened mouth. I poured water on my handkerchief and
bathed the face. That would have been my first desire in extreme
moments. The poor wretch gave a reviving moan, so I felt emboldened to
steady the jug and let drop by drop gurgle down its throat.

Forgetting the horror of the bed I sat there, repeating at intervals
this poor ministration until the porthole again dawned, and blackness
became the twilight of day.

My cell-mate could not see me. I doubt if he ever knew that a hand gave
him water. His eyes were meaningless, and he was so gaunt that his body
scarcely made a ridge on the bed.

Some beans and mouldy bread were put in for my rations. The turnkey
asked me how I intended to wash myself without basin or ewer or towels,
and inquired further if he could be of service in disposing of my shirt
or breeches.

"What ails this man?"

He shrugged, and said the prisoner had been wasting with fever.

"You get fever in Ste. Pelagie," he added, "especially when you eat the
prison food. This man ought to be sent to the infirmary, but the
infirmary is overflowing now."

"Who is he?"

"A journalist, or poet, or some miserable canaille of that sort. He will
soon be out of your way." Our guard craned over to look at him.
"_Oui_--da! He is a dying man! A priest must be sent to him soon. I
remember he demanded one several days ago."

But that day and another dragged through before the priest appeared. I
sent out my waistcoat, and got a wretched meal, and a few spoonfuls of
wine that I used to moisten the dying man's lips. His life may or may
not have been prolonged; but out of collapse he opened his mouth
repeatedly and took the drops. He was more my blessing than I was his.

For I had an experience which has ever since given me to know the souls
of prisoners.

The first day, in spite of the cell's foulness, I laughed secretly at
jailers and felt at peace, holding the world at bay. I did not then know
that Ste. Pelagie was the tomb of the accused, where more than one
prisoner dragged out years without learning why he was put there. I was
not brought to any trial or examination.

But gradually an uneasiness which cannot be imagined by one who has not
felt it, grew upon me. I wanted light. The absence of it was torture!
Light--to vivify the stifling air, which died as this man was dying--as
I should die--in blinding mirk!

Moisture broke out all over my body, and cold dew stood on my forehead.
How could human lungs bre