"This is the Prison of St.
Pelagie." "What have I to do here?
My name is Alfred Cambray." "You are the very one we have been expecting." And now it was M.Cambray's turn to laugh merrily.
When M.Cambray's pockets had been searched, and everything suspicious confiscated, he was conducted to a room in the second story, in which he was securely locked.

He had plenty of time to look about his new lodgings.
Apparently the room had been occupied by many an important personage.
The walls were covered with names.

Above some of them impromptu verses had been scribbled; others had perpetuated their profiles; and still others had drawn caricatures of those who had been the means of lodging them here.

The guillotine also figured among the illustrations.
The new lodger was not specially surprised to find himself a prisoner; what he could not understand was the connection between the two events.
How came it about that the courteous and sympathetic Marquis de Fervlans's carriage had brought him here from the palace of the deeply grateful countess?
He was puzzling his brain over this question when his door suddenly opened, and a morose old jailer entered with some soup and bread for the prisoner.
"Thanks, I have dined," said M.Cambray.
The jailer placed the food on the table, with the words: "I want you to understand, citizen, that if you have any idea of starving yourself to death, we shall pour the soup down your throat." Toward evening another visitor appeared.

The door was opened with loud clanking of chains and bolts, and a tall man crossed the threshold.