Night! night! Night would be so heavy and dark that he would not behold his misery, even inwardly.

He could not think; he felt stifled, giddy, as if someone had struck him on the head with a club.
When the gaoler on his rounds peeped through the spy-hole again and saw the man still lying on the floor, he grew angry.

He noisily opened the little door.

"By Jove, are you still there?
Number 19! Do you hear?
Is anything the matter ?" The last words were spoken almost gently; a stupid fellow might imagine that he was pitied.

But that was not the case.