a sub-title."

"The title's a matter of absolute indifference to me," said Conrad:
"perhaps you can find one."

"I will think it over. May I take the manuscript away again? I must
try and become literary in my old age. If a carpenter lad can write a
whole book, surely a Franciscan monk can find a title! Have you
anything on your mind, my son? No? Then God be with you. I will come
again soon." At the door he turned: "Tell me, my son, does the jailer
give you food enough?"

"Yes, more than I need."

* * * * * *

Outside it was hot summer-time. Conrad knew nothing of it, he had not
thought of it. The jailer came with the permission that, as an
exception, he would be allowed to walk for half an hour in the garden.
Conrad felt quite indifferent. As the warder led him along the vaulted
passage, he staggered slightly; he had almost forgotten how to walk.
He steadied himself on his companion's arm and said:

"I feel so strange."

"Hold on to me; nothing will happen to you."

"Are we going right out into the open?"

"From now, you will go for a short walk in the garden every day."

"I do not know if I care to," said Conrad, hesitating. "I am
afraid--of the sun."

They were out under the open sky, in the wide, dazzling green light.
Conrad stood still for a moment and covered his eyes with his hand,
then he looked up, and covered them again, and began to tremble. The
warder remained silent, and supported him as he tottered along under
the shade of the horse-chestnuts. On either side stretched green banks
glowing with flowers and roses, their bright colours quivering like
flame blown by the wind. Above was the blue sky with the great burning
sun. And all around he heard the songs of the birds. Oh, life! life!
He had almost forgotten what it meant--to live! He groaned aloud, it
might have been either from sorrow or joy. Then he sat down on a bench
and paused, exhausted. He gazed out into the illimitable light. Tears
trickled slowly down his hollow cheeks.

After a time the warder started to go on. Conrad raised himself
unsteadily, and they moved slowly forward. They came to a white marble
bust standing on a stone pillar surrounded with flowers.

Conrad stood still, shaded his eyes with his hand, looked at the
statue, and asked: "Who is that?"

"That is the king," answered the warder. Conrad gazed at it
thoughtfully. And then he said softly and much moved: "How