These mirrors were broken in parts.

Yes, they were marked and scratched; they had been "starred," in spite of their solidity; and this proved to me that the torture-chamber in which we now were HAD ALREADY SERVED A PURPOSE.
Yes, some wretch, whose feet were not bare like those of the victims of the rosy hours of Mazenderan, had certainly fallen into this "mortal illusion" and, mad with rage, had kicked against those mirrors which, nevertheless, continued to reflect his agony.

And the branch of the tree on which he had put an end to his own sufferings was arranged in such a way that, before dying, he had seen, for his last consolation, a thousand men writhing in his company.
Yes, Joseph Buquet had undoubtedly been through all this! Were we to die as he had done?
I did not think so, for I knew that we had a few hours before us and that I could employ them to better purpose than Joseph Buquet was able to do.

After all, I was thoroughly acquainted with most of Erik's "tricks;" and now or never was the time to turn my knowledge to account.
To begin with, I gave up every idea of returning to the passage that had brought us to that accursed chamber.

I did not trouble about the possibility of working the inside stone that closed the passage; and this for the simple reason that to do so was out of the question.