And again the cry resounded through his cell. “Trenck, are you there?”
With a wild fear he raised his hand to his burning brow.
“Am I mad?” murmured he; “I hear a voice in my brain calling me; a voice—”
The bolts were pushed back, and Commandant Von Bruckhausen, accompanied by a soldier, with a burning torch, appeared on the threshold.
“Why did you not answer, Trenck?” said he.
“Answer—answer what?”
“The sentinel’s call. As you swore to me you would make new attempts to escape, I was compelled to make arrangements to prevent your succeeding. The guards at your door are commanded to call you every quarter of an hour during the night. If you do not answer at once, they will enter your cell to convince themselves of your presence. Accommodate yourself to this, Trenck. We shall now see if you are able to free yourself with your nails and teeth!”
He left the room, the door was closed. It was night once more in the prisoner’s cell—but he did not sleep. He sat upon his pallet and asked himself if what had passed was true, or if it was not some wild and fearful dream.
“No, no, it cannot be true; they could not rob me of my last and only pleasure—my sleep! soft, balmy sleep!”
But listen. There is a voice again. “Trenck, Trenck, are you there?”