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One afternoon in the middle of May this
warder came into the cell with a face so scowling
and gloomy that Arthur looked at him in
astonishment.
"Why, Enrico!" he exclaimed; "what on earth
is wrong with you to-day?"
"Nothing," said Enrico snappishly; and, going
up to the pallet, he began pulling off the rug,
which was Arthur's property.
"What do you want with my things? Am I to
be moved into another cell?"
"No; you're to be let out."
"Let out? What--to-day? For altogether?
Enrico!"
In his excitement Arthur had caught hold of the
old man's arm. It was angrily wrenched away.
"Enrico! What has come to you? Why don't
you answer? Are we all going to be let out?"
A contemptuous grunt was the only reply.
"Look here!" Arthur again took hold of the
warder's arm, laughing. "It is no use for you to
be cross to me, because I'm not going to get
offended. I want to know about the others."
"Which others?" growled Enrico, suddenly
laying down the shirt he was folding.


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