"Will he grow better, do you think, as he grows older, and drinks more wine, and falls more under the influence of the red Captain?"
To say truth, I thought as Mathilde did, though I had spoken otherwise for mere form of reassurance.
"What is her prison like?" I asked.
"A gloomy room no larger that this, with a single small window. There is no panelling nor tapestry nor plaster—nothing but the bare stones. There are a bed for Madame, a cot for me, a table, and two chairs: nothing else to make it look like a human habitation, save our crucifixes, an image of the Virgin, a trunk, and Madame's book of Hours."
"A small window, you say. Is it barred?"
"No; but our room is very high up in the tower."
"Still, if one got through the window—is it large enough for that?"
"One might get through; but the moat is beneath—far beneath."
"The window looks toward Montoire, then, if the moat is beneath."
"Yes; we can see the sunset."