phy.

The pigeons were still there, but hope was not there; there was no
future to look forward to.

Alas! Rosa, being watched, was no longer able to come. Could she not
write? and if so, could she convey her letters to him?

No, no. He had seen during the two preceding days too much fury and
malignity in the eyes of old Gryphus to expect that his vigilance would
relax, even for one moment. Moreover, had not she to suffer even worse
torments than those of seclusion and separation? Did this brutal,
blaspheming, drunken bully take revenge on his daughter, like the
ruthless fathers of the Greek drama? And when the Genievre had heated
his brain, would it not give to his arm, which had been only too well
set by Cornelius, even double force?

The idea that Rosa might perhaps be ill-treated nearly drove Cornelius
mad.

He then felt his own powerlessness. He asked himself whether God was
just in inflicting so much tribulation on two innocent creatures. And
certainly in these moments he began to doubt the wisdom of Providence.
It is one of the curses of misfortune that it thus begets doubt.

Van Baerle had proposed to write to Rosa, but where was she?

He also would have wished to write to the Hague to be beforehand with
Gryphus, who, he had no doubt, would by denouncing him do his best to
bring new storms on his head.

But how should he write? Gryphus had taken the paper and pencil from
him, and even if he had both, he could hardly expect Gryphus to despatch
his letter.

Then Cornelius revolved in his mind all those stratagems resorted to by
unfortunate prisoners.

He had thought of an attempt to escape, a thing which never entered his
head whilst he could see Rosa every day; but the more he thought of it,
the more clearly he saw the impracticability of such an attempt. He was
one of those choice spirits who abhor everything that is common, and who
often lose a good chance through not taking the way of the vulgar, that
high road of mediocrity which leads to everything.

"How is it possible," said Cornelius to himself, "that I should escape
from Loewestein, as Grotius has done the same thing before me? Has not
every precaution been taken since? Are not the windows barred? Are not
the doors of double and even of treble strength, and the sentinels ten
times more watchful? And have not I, besides all this, an Argus so much
the more dangerous as he has the keen eyes of hatred? Finally, is there
not one fact which takes