"Yes," said the prisoner; and if anything could have tempted a smile
from him, this manner of speech would have done it. But Adolphus was
far enough from smiling.

"Come, eat something," said he, with tremulous persuasion. "My wife
knows how to get up such things. She will do the best for you she can."

"Thank you."

The prisoner again looked out of the window. It was growing dark; the
outline of sea and land was fading out of sight; dreary looked the
world without,--but within the lamp seemed shining with a brighter
light than usual. And here was a person and a speech, a human sympathy,
that almost warmed and soothed him.

He approached the table where Adolphus had spread his supper. He sat in
the chair that was placed for him, and the Drummer waited on him,
recommending Pauline's skill again, much as he might have presented a
petition. The prisoner ate little, but he praised Pauline, and said
outright that he had tasted nothing so palatable as her supper these
five years. This cheered Montier a little, but still his spirits were
almost at the lowest point of depression.

"You seem to pity me," remarked the prisoner, when Adolphus was
gathering up the remains of the frugal supper.

"My God!--yes!" exclaimed Adolphus, stopping short, and looking at the
man.