relieved of his bandages, he began a noisy demonstration of his joy, jumping into the air, fluttering his wings and trying to fly. On the first day he made no success of it, but on the second he managed to flutter from the window to my table, overturning my inkstand in a particularly bad landing he made. From this moment on he became more and more adept and was soon making lively rounds close to the ceiling and filling the cell with his vivacity and chirping.
I was greatly relieved by the companionship of my fellow-prisoner and was really deeply impressed by the manner in which he showed his keen sensibility to my state of mind. I had frequent proofs of it. When I was in a peaceful, calm mood, he acted as though he were almost mad, lighted on my shoulder or my head, pecked me mischievously or hopped about on my paper. When, as was so often the case, I was sad and dull, the bird would sit silent and motionless on the window sill, looking at me. Then, however, only a glance and a smile or a chirp to him was sufficient to rouse him and bring him tumbling over to my table, to jump and chirp about in his very evident endeavour to cheer me up. At dawn he would waken me with flying about the cell or by lighting on my face and peeping at me, insistent that I should get up to provide him with his breakfast and fresh water for his bath.
He was veritably a wise little creature, for he knew men and understood them, as he looked into their souls with his black, beady eyes. He liked the Commandant of the Prison, who came for an inspecting round each week. The moment he entered, the bird gave him a greeting of unmistakable friendliness, lighted on the table and, hopping about in a most amusing manner, would cautiously manoeuvre for a good position near the gallooned sleeve
