“You could climb up to the window and try to escape.”
“Excuse me,” said I, “do consider what you say. Four men are watching me; even if I stood on the bed I could not reach the window without their seeing me. This is the fifth floor, and a sentry goes backwards and forwards below the window; if I could pass him I should next have to climb over a wall as high as a house, on the further side of which another sentry is posted! Surely you must see,” I urged, “that under these circumstances any attempt at flight is out of the question.”
“Who can tell? You have often got away before.”
“Only twice,” I corrected.
“Well, that’s quite enough,” said he. “I can’t do anything for you.” And he went away.
I had already made up my mind what to do now. On no account would I put up with this treatment, but would maintain a passive resistance.
The gendarme brought my food in a wooden vessel and placed it on the floor.
“Take it away! I shall not eat anything,” I said.
He took it up again and withdrew in silence.
This was repeated every day at meal-times. The hours dragged on. I could get no fresh air, could not read, as they would give me no books, could not even sleep for the mice. I did not feel any great craving for food, but drank water continually. In mind I suffered frightfully, not that I felt any anger against these people, but I was irritated beyond measure at the utter senselessness of such treatment.