Some attentions on the part of one's jailer have a sinister significance.

Still, when he seated himself before the little table which they prepared for him, he found that he was really hungry.
He ate with a relish, and chatted quite cheerfully with the soldiers.
"Always hope for the best, sir," said one of these worthy fellows.

"Who knows?
Stranger things have happened!" When the baron finished his repast, he asked for pen, ink, and paper.
They brought what he desired.
He found himself again alone; but his conversation with the soldiers had been of service to him.

His weakness had passed; his _sang-froid_ had returned; he would now reflect.
He was surprised that he had heard nothing from Mme.

d'Escorval and from Maurice.
Could it be that they had been refused access to the prison?
No, they could not be; he could not imagine that there existed men sufficiently cruel to prevent a doomed man from pressing to his heart, in a last embrace, his wife and his son.
Yet, how was it that neither the baroness nor Maurice had made an attempt to see him! Something must have prevented them from doing so.
What could it be?
He imagined the worst misfortunes.