On the second day De Fronsac began to beguile the tedium of confinement by writing poetry. When Gumley looked in at him on one of his periodical visits the Frenchman said:
"You have not a bad heart. You obey orders of—of—of a monstair. Vell, I read you vat I have now written about anoder Monstair—de great villain Monstair vat call himself Emperor of de French! Listen! You vill like it.
"'De sky vas blue, de sea vas green,
All beautiful for to be seen.
Vy den am I not gay and glad?
Alas! de Monstair make me sad.'
"Dat is good beginning, hein?"
"Reyther on the miserable side, don't 'ee think, sir? For myself, I like a rum-tum-tiddlum rollicum-rorum sort o' thing."
"Ver' vell, I write you someting of dat kind."
Gumley heard nothing more of this generous offer until Monday evening. Then, when he went into De Fronsac's room to explain with apologies that he had no more food, the Frenchman said:
"No matter not at all. Vizout doubt some vun vill come to-morrow. Be so good as give me a candle. I vish to write de poesy I speak of."
Gumley saw no reason for not humoring so harmless a hobby, and brought the lighted candle. But a couple of hours later he was awakened from his sleep at the locked door by a smell of burning. He soon satisfied himself that it came from the prisoner's room, and opened the door.
"Ha! I see you!" said De Fronsac. "I am almost burnt alive. I am writing my poesy ven—voilà! de candle overfalls and burns a hole in de table-carpet. See it! I put out de fire, easy; but it make much smoke. I fear it vake you; pardon, my good Gomley."