It was not large, but it had a window, well barred,
through which came the good strong light of the northern sky. A
wooden bench for my bed stood in one corner, and, what cheered me
much, there was a small iron stove. Apart from warmth, its fire
would be companionable, and to tend it a means of passing the time.
Almost the first thing I did was to examine it. It was round, and
shaped like a small bulging keg on end. It had a lid on top, and in
the side a small door with bars for draught, suggesting to me in
little the delight of a fireplace. A small pipe from the side
carried away the smoke into a chimney in the wall. It seemed to
me luxurious, and my spirits came back apace.
There was no fire yet, and it was bitter cold, so that I took to
walking up and down to keep warmth in me. I was ill nourished, and
I felt the cold intensely. But I trotted up and down, plans of
escape already running through my head. I was as far off as you can
imagine from that event of the early morning, when I stood waiting,
half frozen, to be shot by Lancy's men.
After I had been walking swiftly up and down for an hour or
more, slapping my hands against my sides to keep them warm--for it
was so cold I ached and felt a nausea--I was glad to see Gabord
enter with a soldier carrying wood and shavings.
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