corridor; the noise was lost at the door of the prison, and I did not doubt of Fischer’s being released. Whilst I was rejoicing at his good luck, I was afflicted at being thus left, and destined to remain quite alone in my prison. On the following day, my supposition that Fischer had left the prison, was confirmed, by observing that the corporal who used to come every morning to borrow a comb for my companion, did not appear at all. At twelve o'clock, however, he entered my room, bringing me some volumes of Plutarch, which I had lent to Fischer. “He has left us then,” said I, “he is free?” He stared at me, turned, and seeing that the soldiers were not in the room, added in a low voice: “Do not envy his fate, he is not gone to his native country.”
One night the officer told me to follow him, and led me immediately to a cell at the other end of the passage; my portmanteau was brought in, and I was informed that I should soon return to my own room. The one I had just entered was so small that
