He always entered the dark cell with a cheerful face and a glad "God be with you!" It was his office to bring comfort, if only he had known how.

As a rule the monk came in, wiping the perspiration from his brow with a coarse blue handkerchief, and loudly assuring the prisoner how pleasantly cool it was in his cell.

But this time he was nervous and ill at ease.

How did the prisoner look?
Emaciated to a skeleton, his teeth prominent between fleshless lips, his eyes wide open, a wondrous fire burning in their depths.
"As you will never send for me, my dear Ferleitner, I have come again unasked to see how you fare.

You are not ill ?" "Has the sentence come ?" asked the prisoner.
"Not that I know of," answered the monk; "but I see I am disturbing you at your work." Conrad had neglected to put away the sheets he had written, and so had to confess that he had been writing.
"Isn't it too dark to see to write here ?" "You get accustomed to it.