"Mercy! What, for me, a liberated convict? Don't reckon too much on that or you'll be disappointed. But, hang it, what care I? Here or elsewhere is all the same to me! Let my judges do as they will with me, I shall bear them no ill-will. For you are right; I am not a bad sort of fellow at heart; and those who are worse than myself I hate with all the hatred of a good man, and show my dislike by raillery of every sort. You can imagine, can you not, that, by dint of relating stories in which, to please my auditors, I always make those who wantonly torment others receive the reward of their wickedness in the end, I get into the habit of feeling all the indignation and virtuous desire for vengeance I relate?"
"I should never have thought such persons as your prison companions would have been interested in such recitals!"
"Oh, but I'm awake to how to tickle their fancies. If I were to relate to them the story of a man who committed no end of crimes, robbery and murder being among the mildest, and got scragged at last, they would get into a downright passion and not allow me to go on; but if I make up a tale of a woman or child, or a poor, cowardly fellow like myself, that a breath of wind would knock over, being pursued by an atrocious persecutor,—a sort of Blackbeard, who torments them to death, for the pure pleasure of the thing! Oh, how they roar and stamp for joy when I make Mr. Blackbeard in the end served out as he deserves. I have got a story they have never yet heard, called 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half,' which used to delight all the folks at Melun. I have promised to tell it to them here to-night. But, before I begin, I shall see that they come down pretty handsome when I send the box around collecting; and you may depend upon being all the better for its contents. And, besides that, I will write out the story itself to amuse your children. Poor dears! How pleased they will be with it! 'Gringalet and Cut-in-Half,'—there's a title for you! And, bless you, it is so virtuous and moral that an abbé might read it from his pulpit! So make yourself quite happy in every respect."
"One thing gives me great pleasure, dear brother, and that is to see that your disposition keeps you from being as unhappy as the rest of your companions here."
"Why, I am quite sure if I were like a poor fellow who is a prisoner in our ward, I should be tempted to lay violent hands on myself. Poor young man! I really am sorry for him,—he seems so very wretched; and I am seriously afraid that before the day is over he will have sustained some serious mischief at the hands of the other prisoners, whom he refuses to associate with, and they owe him a grudge for it; and I know that a plan is arranged to serve him out this very evening."
"Dear me, how shocking! But you, brother, do not mean to take any part in it, I hope?"
"No, thank you, I am not such a fool; I should be sure to catch some of the good things intended for another. All I know about it I picked up while going to and fro. I heard them talking among themselves of gagging him to hinder him from crying out, and in order to prevent any one from seeing what is going on they mean to form a circle around him, making believe to be listening to one of their party, who should pretend to be reading a newspaper or anything they liked out loud."
"But why should they thus ill-treat the poor man?"
"Because, as he is always alone, never speaks to any person, and seems to hold everybody in disgust, they have taken it into their heads he is a spy, which is immensely stupid on their parts, because a spy would naturally hook on with them the better to find out all they said and did; but I believe that the principal cause of their spite against him is that he has the air of a gentleman, which is a thing they hold in abhorrence. It is the captain of the dormitory, who is known by the name of the Walking Skeleton, who is at the head of this plot; and he is like a wild beast after this Germain, for so the object of their dislike is called. But let them all do as they like; it is no affair of mine. I can be of no use, therefore let them go their own way. But then you see, Jeanne, it is of no use being dull and mopish in prison, or the others are sure to suspect you of something or other. They never had to find fault with my want of sociability, and for that reason never suspected me or owed me a grudge. But come, my girl, you had better return home; we have gossiped long enough. I know very well how it takes up your time to come hither. I have nothing to do but to idle away my days; it is very different with you; so good night. Come and see me again when you can; you know how happy it always makes me."
"Nay, but, brother, pray do not go yet; I wish you to stay."