“Then call the governor!”
He did not stir, but after a while the deputy-governor appeared.
“Will you tell me what this means?” I said, indicating the state of the cell.
“I know nothing about it,” replied he. “We have simply followed instructions. You must apply to the Deputy Public Prosecutor, who will be here to-morrow.”
I felt horribly cast down. “What shall I do if they refuse to improve things?” I thought, sitting down in the straw with my head in my hands. Soon fatigue overpowered me, and I lay down; but hardly had I gone to sleep when I sprang up broad awake—mice were scratching and burrowing in the straw! I paced up and down the tiny cell, feeling how stifling the atmosphere was. The tub stank vilely; the space outside where the four watchers were was small, and only used-up air penetrated thence into the cell. I wished I could effect some ventilation, but the window was high up and could not be opened. I awaited the day with impatience, hoping I should at least be able to breathe some fresh air. Wearily the hours dragged along; sometimes I had to lie down for a moment’s rest, but only to spring up again because of the mice. At last day dawned.
“Take me to the air!” I cried to the gendarme, who seemed here to act as warder.
“I have no orders to do so,” was his reply.
Towards midday the Deputy Public Prosecutor arrived. I explained to him the horrible conditions to which I had been subjected, and demanded redress.
He listened to me, but assured me he could do nothing whatever.
“But tell me what hinders you from giving me a bedstead?”