life--had crept to him in his prison, and with a
cruel hand marked years upon his brow--years through which he had not
lived, but suffered. And still he remained young in spite of gray hairs
and wrinkles. He glowed with hope and defiance, his sluggish blood
was warmed from time to time with new hopes, new expectations. His
imagination painted wonderful pictures of future happiness. This
hope always remained smiling and vigorous; notwithstanding his many
disappointments--his many useless attempts to escape, Trenck still hoped
for freedom. As often as the subterranean passages which he dug
were discovered, he recommenced his work, and dug new ones; when
the sentinels whom he had won by gold and flattery were detected and
punished, he found means to obtain other friends.

Truly, friends did not fail; the buried but still living prisoner had
friends who never forgot him; bold, loving friends, risking their lives
for him. The mighty power of his great misfortunes won him friends. The
soldiers who guarded him were seized with shuddering horror and pity
at the sight of this sunken form, reminding them of the picture of the
skeleton and the hour-glass which hung in the village church. Trenck
knew how to profit by this. The officers, who came every day to inspect
his prison, were charmed and amazed by the freshness of his spirit, his
bright conversation, and gay remarks. These interviews were the only
interruption to the dulness of their garrison life. They came to him to
be cheered. Not being willing to sit with him in the dark, they brought
their lights with them; they opened the door of his cell that they might
not be obliged to remain with him in the damp, putrid air. They wondered
at his firmness and courage; they sympathized with his youth and
loneliness, and this sympathy made for him, earnest, useful friends, who
revelled in the thought that Trenck's renewed attempts at escape would
at last be crowned with happy results, that he would obtain his freedom.

He was on the eve of a great day. To-morrow he would live again,
to-morrow he would be free; this time it was no chimera, no dream--he
must succeed.

"Yes, my plan cannot fail," murmured Trenck, as he sat upon his stone
seat and gazed at the iron door, which had just closed behind the
Commandant Bruckhausen. "My cruel jailer has discovered nothing,
carefully as he searched my cell; this time I have dug no mines, broken
no walls; this time I shall pass through that do