Through a grating in the door came the flickering light of a lamp burning in the corridor, while outer air was admitted by a small iron-barred opening in one of the side walls some six feet above the floor.

The place reeked with dampness, and, in spite of these openings, its air was foul and stifling.

A few minutes after Ridge entered it, and as he sat in dumb despair, vainly striving to realize his unhappy situation, a soldier brought him a bowl of bean porridge and a jug of water.

Without a word, he set these down and departed.
A little later other soldiers came and gazed curiously at him through the grated door, always speaking of him as "el Yanko," and making merry at his expense.

Thus several hours passed, and he still sat motionless, trying to think; but his brain was in a whirl, and he seemed as powerless to concentrate his thoughts as he was friendless.
He realized dimly that at regular intervals a guard, pacing the outer corridor, paused before the door of his cell to peer in at him, and so make sure of his presence; but he paid slight attention to this official scrutiny.
Suddenly his ear caught a sound strange to that place--a girlish voice laughing merrily and evidently exchanging brisk repartee with the soldiers in the guard-room.