be more fearful than
the contrast between the ridiculous and such a dungeon. "_Non omnis
moriar_," wrote one man in a yellow liquid, which too evidently
was discolored blood. "_Justum et tenacem recti virum_," scrawled
another, immediately followed by a portrait of the "_vultis instantis
tyranni_," who had, if we may judge by the chain suspended from his
neck, once been a famous Grand Master. On one part of the wall might
be deciphered a whole romance scrawled with an old nail, in which the
prisoner had arrived at such excellence, that the letters were like
the most admirable type. It was a long, and doubtless melancholy tale;
so much so, that the kind guardians of the place had scratched it with
their knives to prevent its being easily deciphered. In fact, that
little cell had evidently contained an Iliad of romances; and if the
walls could have spoken, or even the scrawls been deciphered, some
strange tales, and perhaps many mysterious events, would have come to
light. Dumiger gazed on these sad records of prior existences with a
melancholy interest. In vain he endeavored to explain to himself the
cause of his being treated with such unparalleled severity. He could
not recall any crime such as might excuse his incarceration in such
an abominable place. He buried his face in his hands. He thought of
Marguerite and the clock, and then, happily for him, he wept, as the
young alone can weep when they are in sorrow, and when their sorrow is
unselfish.

He was roused by an unbolting of bars, the turning of huge, unwieldy
keys, and the lieutenant of the castle stood before him.

Dumiger was in that state of mind when whatever of pride belongs
to the consciousness of innocence loses its strength. Though there
was little to invite confidence in the outward demeanor of the
functionary, he ran toward him, seized him by both hands, and
exclaimed, "Have pity upon me, sir; tell me why I am here!"

"Pooh, pooh," replied the bronzed old Cerberus: "be a man."

"Be a man!" shrieked Dumiger, "I am a man: and it is because I am
a man, a free man of Dantzic, that I appeal against this monstrous
treatment. Be a man! why, I appeal to you, sir, to be a man, and
to give up that situation, if it can only be retained by cruelty to
others. I say again, be you a man, and cease to torture me."

The lieutenant continued looking at him with the most perfect
indifference. He whistled a tune, took the only two turns in the cell
which its extent