Its atmosphere was that of a chemist’s shop. There was plenty of light in it.
They had set up against the wall a little truckle-bed, which Lerne pointed out to me saying, “Your bed has been ready for you for some time, Nicolas.”
Then my uncle gave some instructions to the Germans, in their native language. The two assistants having unbound me, undressed me. Resistance was useless.
A few minutes later I was comfortably lying in bed, with sheets up to my chin, and tucked in. Johann alone watched over me, sitting astride on a stool, the only ornament of this austere place.
The curtain drawn aside let me see another folding door—the door into the courtyard.
In front of me,—through the bay window, I saw my old friend the fir tree.
My sadness increased. My mouth had a bad flavor in it, as if it had already tasted its approaching decomposition.
“Oh, to think that in a short time some filthy chemistry would be a prelude to that!”
Johann toyed with a revolver, and aimed it at me every now and again, much pleased with his excellent joke.
I turned round towards the wall, and that caused me to discover an inscription engraved in uncouth letters on the varnish of the tiling, made by the help, at least so I thought, of the jewel in a ring: