One day Sam, after devouring his scanty pittance, had returned to his work, thinking to cheat his hunger by it--the rest of the prisoners were eating cheerily. A young man, pale, fair, and feeble-looking, came and placed himself near him; he held in his hand his ration, as yet untouched, and a knife; he remained in that situation, with the air of one who would speak, and dares not. The sight of the man, and his bread and meat annoyed Sam. "What do you want?" said he, rudely. "That you would do me a service," said the young man, timidly. "What?" replied Sam. "That you would help me to eat this--it is too much for me." A tear stood in the proud eye of Sam; he took the knife, divided the young man's ration into two equal parts, took one of them, and began eating. "Thank you," said the young man; "if you like, we will share together every day." "What is your name?" said Sam. "Heartall." "Wherefore are you here?" "I have committed a theft." "And I too," said Sam. Henceforth they did thus share together every day. Sam Needy was little more than thirty years old, but at times he appeared fifty, so stern were his thoughts usually. Heartall was twenty--he might have been taken for seventeen, so much innocence was there in his appearance. A strict friendship was knit up between the two, rather of father to son than brother to brother, Heartall being still almost a child, Sam already nearly an old man. They wrought in the same work-room--they slept under the same vault--they walked in the same airing-ground--they ate of the same bread. Each of these two friends was the universe to the other--it would seem that they were happy. Mention has already been made of the director of the work-rooms. This man, who was abhorred by the prisoners, was often obliged, in order to enforce obedience, to have recourse to Sam Needy, who was beloved by them. On more than one occasion, when the question was, how to put down a rebellion or a tumult, the authority without title of Sam Needy had given powerful aid to the official authority of the director; in short, to restrain the prisoners, ten words from him were as good as ten turnkeys. Sam had many times rendered this service to the director, wherefore the latter detested him cordially. He was jealous of him; there was at the bottom of his heart a secret, envious, implacable hatred against Sam--the hate of a titular for a real sovereign--of a temporal against a spiritual power; these are the worst of all hatreds. Sam loved Heartall greatly, and did not trouble himself about the director. One morning when the turnkeys were leading the prisoners, two by two, from their dormitory to the work-room, one of them called Heartall, who was by the side of Sam, and informed him that the director wished to see him. "What does he want with you?" said Sam. "I do not know," replied the other. The turnkey took Heartall away.