"Without the slightest. I was already at that time a crushed man. When yet a youth the marrow of my bones had been poisoned in the mines of Siberia. During the whole time of my settlement, I have been since 1858 keeper of that inn; I gave the authorities no cause for suspicion, but I was a 'forced man,' and that sufficed for pouncing upon me."
"Forced! what does it mean?"
"Well, a person forced to accept, when to others free choice is left—domicile, trade or calling, wife and religion."
"Terrible!" I exclaimed. "And you submitted?" A little smile played around his thin lips.
"Are you so much moved at my fate? We generally bear very easily the most severe pains endured by others."
"That is a saying of Larochefoucauld," I said, somewhat surprised. "Have you read him?"
"I was at one time very fond of French literature. But pardon my acrimony. I am but little accustomed to sympathy, and indeed of what avail would it be to me now!" He stared painfully at the ground, and I also became silent, convinced that any superficial expression of sympathy would, under the circumstances, be downright mockery.
A painful pause ensued, which I broke with the question, if he had worked the engraving upon the lid of the box after a pattern.
"No, from memory," was his rejoinder.
"It is a peculiar kind of architecture!"