my window, and through the ice covering its panes, I saw only the blank of the flêche, and the casemates below, in which the soldiers attached to the prison were quartered. Daylight showed me much better how damp this little room was. Water strained from the foundations, and a kind of mushroom grew in every corner. I put some indifferent questions to the soldiers, but they shook their heads, without answering a single word. I asked for my portmanteau; the corporal went out, and in half an hour brought it in. I had taken care to provide myself with some books, and had in my portmanteau, Plutarch, Horace, Young's Night Thoughts, &c. I spent my time between reading and walking in a diagonal across my prison. During the first three days I neither saw nor heard anybody, except the soldiers who kept guard over me. Once, however, I heard before the entrance Fischer's voice, who was humming a Polish tune. On the third day I had a visit of Titow, and as he was afraid I might complain of his bad behaviour towards me during our
