having the new-comers in your cell, but never for any length of time, for as soon as the secretary has got what he wants to know from them, he sends them to their place—­to the Fours, to some fort, or to the Levant; and if they be foreigners they are sent across the frontier, for our Government does not hold itself master of the subjects of other princes, if they be not in its service.  The clemency of the Court is beyond compare; there’s not another in the world that treats its prisoners so well.  They say it’s cruel to disallow writing and visitors; but that’s foolish, for what are writing and company but waste of time?  You will tell me that you have nothing to do, but we can’t say as much.”

Such was, almost word for word, the first harangue with which the fellow honoured me, and I must say I found it amusing.  I saw that if the man had been less of a fool he would most certainly have been more of a scoundrel.

The next day brought me a new messmate, who was treated as Maggiorin had been, and I thus found it necessary to buy another ivory spoon, for as the newcomers were given nothing on the first day of their imprisonment I had to do all the honours of the cell.

My new mate made me a low bow, for my beard, now four inches long, was still more imposing than my figure.  Lawrence often lent me scissors to cut my nails, but he was forbidden, under pain of very heavy punishment, to let me touch my beard.  I knew not the reason of this order, but I ended by becoming used to my beard as one gets used to everything.

The new-comer was a man of about fifty, approaching my size, a little bent, thin, with a large mouth, and very bad teeth.  He had small grey eyes hidden under thick eyebrows of a red colour, which made him look like an owl; and this picture was set off by a small black wig, which exhaled a disagreeable odour of oil, and by a dress of coarse grey cloth.  He accepted my offer of dinner, but was reserved, and said not a word the whole day, and I was also silent, thinking he would soon recover the use of his tongue, as he did the next day.

Early in the morning he was given a bed and a bag full of linen.  The gaoler asked him, as he had asked me, what he would have for dinner, and for money to pay for it.

“I have no money.”

“What! a moneyed man like you have no money?”

“I haven’t a sou.”

“Very good; in that case I will get you some army biscuit and water, according to instructions.”

He went out, and returned directly afterwards with a pound and a half of biscuit, and a pitcher, which he set before the prisoner, and then went away.

Left alone with this phantom I heard a sigh, and my pity made me break the silence.

“Don’t sigh, sir, you shall share my dinner.  But I think you have made a great mistake in coming here without money.”

“I have some, but it does not do to let those harpies know of it:”