The soldier drew the bolts that garnished the iron-lined door of this room. The Count entered, with a firm step.
After taking a glance at these cold, sad walls, destined henceforward to serve him as a habitation, he sat down on a chair, crossed his arms on his breast, hung his head, and began to reflect.
The soldier, or rather gaoler, who had gone out, returned an hour later, and found him in the same position.
He brought with him sheets, blankets, and wood to light a fire. Behind him two soldiers carried the portmanteau containing the prisoner's clothes and linen, which they placed in a corner, and retired.
The gaoler at once set to work making the bed. Then he swept the room and lit the fire. When these different duties were accomplished, he approached the prisoner.
"My lord?" he said to him politely.
"What do you want with me, my friend?" the Count answered, raising his head and looking at him gently.
"The governor of the castle desires the honour of an interview with you, as he says he has an important communication to make."
"I am at the governor's orders," the Count said laconically.
The gaoler bowed and went out.