ter. Sitting back, I thought hard for a moment. Of this I was sure:
the pan and bread were not there when I went to sleep, for this was the
spot where my eyes fell naturally while I lay in bed looking towards
Doltaire; and I should have remembered it now, even if I had not noted
it then. My jailer had brought these while I slept. But it was still
dark. I waked again as though out of sleep, startled: I was in a dungeon
that had no window!

Here I was, packed away in a farthest corner of the citadel, in a deep
hole that maybe had not been used for years, to be, no doubt, denied all
contact with the outer world--I was going to say FRIENDS, but whom could
I name among them save that dear soul who, by last night's madness,
should her brother be dead, was forever made dumb and blind to me? Whom
had I but her and Voban!--and Voban was yet to be proved. The Seigneur
Duvarney had paid all debts he may have owed me, and he now might,
because of the injury to his son, leave me to my fate. On Gabord the
soldier I could not count at all.

There I was, as Doltaire had said, like a rat in a trap. But I would not
let panic seize me. So I sat and ate the stale but sweet bread, took a
long drink of the good water from the earthen jar, and then, stretching
myself out, drew my cloak up to my chin, and settled myself for sleep
again. And that I might keep up a kind delusion that I was not
quite alone in the bowels of the earth, I reached out my hand and
affectionately drew the blades of corn between my fingers.

Presently I drew my chin down to my shoulder, and let myself drift out
of painful consciousness almost as easily as a sort of woman can call
up tears at will. When I waked again, it was without a start or moving,
without confusion, and I was bitterly hungry. Beside my couch, with his
hands on his hips and his feet thrust out, stood Gabord, looking down at
me in a quizzical and unsatisfied way. A torch was burning near him.

"Wake up, my dickey-bird," said he in his rough, mocking voice, "and
we'll snuggle you into the pot. You've been long hiding; come out of the
bush--aho!"

I drew myself up painfully. "What is the hour?" I asked, and meanwhile I
looked for the earthen jar and the bread.

"Hour since when?" said he.

"Since it was twelve o'clock last night," I answered.

"Fourteen hours since THEN," said he.

The emphasis arrested my attention. "I mean," I added, "since the
fighting in the courtyard."

"Thirty-six hours