I walked in and saw a mean, bare chamber with barred windows. The floor was indifferently clean, there was no furniture. The yellow light of the lanthorn falling on the stained walls gave the place the look of a dungeon. I turned to the two men. ‘This is not a very good room,’ I said. ‘And it feels damp. Have you no other?’ Louis looked doubtfully at his companion. But the porter shook his head stubbornly. ‘Why does he not speak?’ I asked with impatience. ‘He is dumb,’ Louis answered. ‘Dumb!’ I exclaimed. ‘But he hears.’ ‘He has ears,’ the servant answered drily. ‘But he has no tongue, Monsieur.’ I shuddered. ‘How did he lose it?’ I asked. ‘At Rochelle. He was a spy, and the king’s people took him the day the town surrendered. They spared his life, but cut out his tongue.’ ‘Ah!’ I said. I wished to say more, to be natural, to show myself at my ease. But the porter’s eyes seemed to burn into me, and my own tongue clave to the roof of my mouth. He opened his lips and pointed to his throat with a horrid gesture, and I shook my head and turned from him--‘You can let me have some bedding?’ I murmured hastily, for the sake of saying something, and to escape. ‘Of course, Monsieur,’ Louis answered. ‘I will fetch some.’ He went away, thinking doubtless that Clon would stay with me. But after waiting a minute the porter strode off also with the lanthorn, leaving me to stand in the middle of the damp, dark room and reflect on the position. It was plain that Clon suspected me. This prison-like room, with its barred window, at the back of the house, and in the wing farthest from the stables, proved so much. Clearly, he was a dangerous fellow, of whom I must beware. I had just begun to wonder how Madame could keep such a monster in her house, when I heard his step returning. He came in, lighting Louis, who carried a small pallet and a bundle of coverings. The dumb man had, besides the lanthorn, a bowl of water and a piece of rag in his hand. He set them down, and going out again, fetched in a stool. Then he hung up the lanthorn on a nail, took the bowl and rag, and invited me to sit down. I was loth to let him touch me; but he continued to stand over me, pointing and grinning with dark persistence, and rather than stand on a trifle I sat down at last and gave him his way. He bathed my head carefully enough, and I daresay did it good; but I understood. I knew that his only desire was to learn whether the cut was real or a pretence, and I began to fear him more and more; until he was gone from the room, I dared scarcely lift my face lest he should read too much in it.