In a short time they reached the Old Capitol prison.
Capt. Grandiere had procured two passes, and armed with these, presented himself and his niece at the guarded door, and was permitted to enter.
“I know the way now! But let me take a long breath before I begin to climb all these stairs that are before us!” said the old man, as he dropped upon a rude bench in the hall and began to wipe his face.
Rosemary sat down beside him, and peeped charily through her green veil at the sentries that stood before the closed doors on each side the hall.
Presently the captain arose and told Rosemary to come along, and began to ascend the stairs.
They went up three flights and found themselves on the third floor of the building, in a wide passage, with closed doors, guarded by sentries on each side.
Walking between these they reached the front end of the hall, where a small apartment had been made across it by a partition of wood. Before a rude door a sentry stood.
Capt. Grandiere showed his permits, and the soldier opened the door to let them pass.
They entered the small room, which, however, had the advantage of a large window and of perfect cleanliness—of almost aggressive cleanliness—for everything smelt of fresh water and fresh whitewash.
Roland Bayard sat on the side of his narrow cot, engaged in reading the morning paper.