The woman looked into the cell in shrinking fear.

“Go on,” said Mrs. French in an encouraging voice, patting her on the shoulder, “I will wait here.”

Clinging to one another, the woman and children passed in through the door which the guard closed behind them with a reverberating clang.  Mrs. French sat on the bench outside, her face cast down, her eyes closed.  Now and then through the grating of the door rose and fell a sound of voices mingled with that of sobs and weeping, hearing which, Mrs. French covered her face with her hands, while the tears trickled down through her fingers.

As she sat there, the door-bell rang and two Galician men appeared, seeking admission.

“We come to see Kalmar,” said one of them.

Mrs. French came eagerly forward.  “Oh, let them come in, please.  They are friends of the prisoner.  I know them.”

Without a word the guard turned from her, strode to the office where Mr. Cowan sat in conversation with the doctor, and in a few moments returned with permission for the men to enter.

“Sit down there,” he said, pointing to a bench on the opposite side of the door from that on which Mrs. French was sitting.

Before many minutes had elapsed, the prisoner appeared at the door of his cell with Paulina and his children.

“Would you kindly open the door?” he said in a courteous tone to the guard.  “They wish to depart.”

The guard went toward the door, followed by Mrs. French, who stood waiting with hands outstretched toward the weeping Paulina.  As the door swung open, the children came forth, but upon the threshold Paulina paused, glanced into the cell, ran back and throwing herself at the prisoner’s feet, seized his hand and kissed it again and again with loud weeping.

For a single instant the man yielded her his hand, and then in a voice stern but not unkind, he said, “Go.  My children are in your keeping.  Be faithful.”

At once the woman rose and came back to the door where Mrs. French stood waiting for her.

As they passed on, the guard turned to the men and said briefly, “Come.”

As they were about to enter the cell, the boy suddenly left Paulina’s side, ran to Simon Ketzel and clutching firm hold of his hand said, “Let me go with you.”

“Go back,” said the guard, but the boy still clung to Ketzel’s hand.

“Oh, let him go,” said Mrs. French.  “He will do no harm.”  And the guard gave grudging permission.

With a respectful, almost reverential mien, the men entered the cell, knelt before the prisoner and kissed his hand.  The moments were precious and there was much to say and do, so Kalmar lost no time.

“I have sent for you,” he said, “first to give you my report which you will send back to headquarters.”

Over and over again he repeated the words of his report, till he was certain that they had it in sure possession.