“My God, why should I?” replied Conrad.  “If this work of mine could be the help to other poor wretches that it has been to me!  But I do not know—­it was not meant for that.  I wrote it only for myself.”

“Naturally, one or two things must be altered,” said the father.  “We would go through it again together.”

“But, holy father,” asked the prisoner wistfully, “that is—­if you think there will be time?”

“Above all, we must try and find a suitable title.  Have you not thought that your child must have a name?”

“I wrote the letters I.N.R.I. at the top.”

“It is rather out of the common.  People won’t know what to make of it.  We must at least have 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.