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"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 and more since then, m'sieu' the dormouse," was
his reply.
I had slept a day and a half since the doors of this cell closed on
me. It was Friday then; now it was Sunday afternoon. Gabord had
come to me three times, and seeing how sound asleep I was had not
disturbed me, but had brought bread and water--my prescribed diet.
He stood there, his feet buried in the blanched corn--I could see
the long yellowish-white blades--the torch throwing shadows about
him, his back against the wall. I looked carefully round my dungeon.
There was no a sign of a window; I was to live in darkness.


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