They went down several damp, black stairways, passed under several arches which resembled the horrible spirals of Dante's Inferno; at last the governor said, stopping before an iron door,—
"This is the place. I am not his jailer; he is in the cell, no doubt. But I have duplicate keys; let us go in."
He opened the door, and they went in, with no light but a lantern, held by a turnkey. Then Gabriel saw before him a mute and frightful picture, such as one hardly sees except in the nightmare of delirium.
For walls, nothing but solid rock, black, moss-grown, and noisome; for this gloomy hole was excavated below the bed of the Seine, and the water, in times of freshet, filled it half full. On these loathsome walls were crawling slimy things; and the icy air was broken by no sound except that made by the regular, dull falling of a drop of water from the hideous arch. A little less alive than the drop of water, a little more alive than the almost motionless slugs, two beings that had been human were dragging out their existence there, one guarding the other, both dumb and awe-inspiring.
The jailer, a sort of idiot, a dull-eyed giant, with a face of deathlike pallor, was standing in the shadow, gazing stupidly at the prisoner, who was lying in the corner on a pallet of straw, shackled hand and foot to a chain riveted to the wall. He was an old man, with a long white beard and white hair. When they entered he seemed to be sleeping, and did not stir; he might have been taken for a corpse or a statue.
But suddenly he sat up and opened his eyes, and his gaze met Gabriel's.
He was forbidden to speak; but this terrible and piercing gaze spoke for him. Gabriel was fascinated by it, and could not remove his eyes. The governor and turnkey overhauled all the corners of the dungeon. He, Gabriel, rooted to the spot, neither moved forward nor back, but stood there transfixed by those blazing eyes; he could not get away from them, and at the same time a thousand confused and unutterable thoughts were whirling through his brain.
The prisoner seemed no longer to view his visitor with mere indifference, and there was a moment when he made a motion and opened his lips as if to speak; but the governor having turned back toward them, he remembered in time the rule laid down for him, and his lips spoke only by a bitter smile. He closed his eyes once more, and relapsed into his corpse-like immobility.
"Oh, let us go out!" said Gabriel to the governor. "For God's sake, let us go out! I must have fresh air and see the sunlight again."
He did not recover his tranquillity and his life, so to speak, until he found himself once more in the throng and tumult of the street. And even then the gloomy vision he had seen remained in his mind and pursued him the livelong day, as he walked thoughtfully hither and thither through the streets.