“That I find shelter somewhere—for I do not sleep in their beds; I cannot live among such noises. So they follow me, and spy upon me, and think I go among the enemies of the people. I, who have no life out of this place; no friend but this little creature and you—and you, my Therese.” Marguerite sat down by the old prisoner, and took his hand in hers. “I, dear father, am better than a friend, your own dear child. Did I not come to you in the prison when every door was locked? Did I not persuade poor old Doudel and I bribe the governor with my flowers? Do you remember how I crept in under the good keeper’s arm when your eyes shone on me through the darkness, and sat down by your side on the cold floor? He wanted me to stay outside; but your dear, old face looked down on me so pitiful, and I would not go. Have you forgotten it, my father?” “Forgotten it, sweet one! How could I forget? When God sends his angels to spirits in torment, do they forget? My eyes were used to darkness, and your face dazzled them, dazzled my soul! Did you know it, I thought at first that my wife had come. She was so like you, the same golden hair, the same eyes. I could not speak from the joy that seized upon me.” “I remember—I remember! You lifted your hand—how long and white it was. You laid it on my head, and looked down into my eyes so sadly with such pitiful love that I began to cry. Then I remembered you stooped down, your beard swept into my lap, and your face touched mine—you were gathering up my tears with your lips.” The old prisoner nodded his head and smiled. “Yes, yes, I remember—I remember.” “Doudel got impatient, sat down his lantern, and attempted to lift me from the floor; but I would not go. You remember that?” “Yes, yes! You clung to me, and wanted to stay there in the dark. Then I thought of the angels that visited Peter in prison, and wondered if they were lovely, like you.” “Was it like that? But you were hungry, and I had only a crust of bread and some figs to give you.” “Yes, yes! Your tears and that look, they were food for the soul.” “Do you remember how you ate the bread, while I sat on the floor and peeled the figs for you? while kind old Doudel held the lantern and looked on?” The old prisoner nodded his head, and laughed just above his breath. “It was against the rules, you know, and I had to beg and implore poor Doudel to let me in, with my basket of flowers. How the tears ran down your cheeks when I took them out. Wasn’t that a feast?” The girl looked up as she spoke, and saw that great tears were coursing each other down the old man’s face, and falling drop by drop upon his hand, where they trembled and melted away like mist upon marble. “Now I am making you sad,” she murmured. The old man turned his face toward her, and a smile broke over it. This was the second time within an hour that the gentle sadness of his features had given way. It was like the breaking up of ice under swift gleams of sunshine.