The walls were covered with names. Above some of them impromptu verses
had been scribbled; others had perpetuated their profiles; and still
others had drawn caricatures of those who had been the means of lodging
them here. The guillotine also figured among the illustrations.
The new lodger was not specially surprised to find himself a prisoner;
what he could not understand was the connection between the two events.
How came it about that the courteous and sympathetic Marquis de
Fervlans's carriage had brought him here from the palace of the deeply
grateful countess?
He was puzzling his brain over this question when his door suddenly
opened, and a morose old jailer entered with some soup and bread for the
prisoner.
"Thanks, I have dined," said M. Cambray.
The jailer placed the food on the table, with the words: "I want you to
understand, citizen, that if you have any idea of starving yourself to
death, we shall pour the soup down your throat."
Toward evening another visitor appeared. The door was opened with loud
clanking of chains and bolts, and a tall man crossed the threshold. It
was the Marquis de Fervlans.
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