“I had more to tell,” Pontet continued; “but if you care not to listen, I can spare my breath.”
“Tell us, friend, tell us,” spoke two or three voices together.
“I have made a friend amongst the guards who knows a little French, and is disposed to be communicative. He says the Czar has appointed General St. Priest governor and guardian of all the prisoners.”
“St. Priest!—Who is he?”
“A Frenchman in the service of Russia. Because he is a Frenchman this office has been given him. My comrades, this looks well.”
“Nothing looks well now but the grave,” said the man who cried “Vive Napoléon.”
“Pontet,” he continued, “I don’t think much of your news. St. Priest may be a Frenchman, but then he must be a pretty rascal, to fight against France.”
“Well, we shall see.”
“What is that noise?” asked Henri, as the loud rattling of an iron chain was heard.
“They are only swinging the great lamp up to its place, where it hangs from the roof. How early they are lighting it to-night! It will be daylight in the court for another hour.”