This was not reassuring. But worse was to come. Early in the morning orders were received that I should be treated with especial strictness, and I was given the choice between irons and one of the cells below the level. Choosing the latter, I was left to reflect upon many things; among others, on the queer and uncertain nature of the Cardinal, who loved, I knew, to play with a man as a cat with a mouse; and on the ill effects which sometimes attend a high chest-thrust however carefully delivered. I only rescued myself at last from these and other unpleasant reflections by obtaining the loan of a pair of dice; and the light being just enough to enable me to reckon the throws, I amused myself for hours by casting them on certain principles of my own. But a long run again and again upset my calculations; and at last brought me to the conclusion that a run of bad luck may be so persistent as to see out the most sagacious player. This was not a reflection very welcome to me at the moment. Nevertheless, for three days it was all the company I had. At the end of that time, the knave of a jailor who attended me, and who had never grown tired of telling me, after the fashion of his kind, that I should be hanged, came to me with a less assured air. ‘Perhaps you would like a little water?’ he said civilly. ‘Why, rascal?’ I asked. ‘To wash with,’ he answered. ‘I asked for some yesterday, and you would not bring it,’ I grumbled. ‘However, better late than never. Bring it now. If I must hang, I will hang like a gentleman. But depend upon it, the Cardinal will not serve an old friend so scurvy a trick.’ ‘You are to go to him,’ he announced, when he came back with the water. ‘What? To the Cardinal?’ I cried. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Good!’ I exclaimed; and in my joy and relief I sprang up at once, and began to refresh my dress. ‘So all this time I have been doing him an injustice,’ I continued. ‘VIVE MONSEIGNEUR! Long live the little Bishop of Luchon! I might have known it, too.’ ‘Don’t make too sure!’ the man answered spitefully. Then he went on, ‘I have something else for you. A friend of yours left it at the gate,’ and he handed me a packet. ‘Quite so!’ I said, leading his rascally face aright. ‘And you kept it as long as you dared--as long as you thought I should hang, you knave! Was not that so? But there, do not lie to me. Tell me instead which of my friends left it.’ For, to confess the truth, I had not so many friends at this time and ten good crowns--the packet contained no less a sum--argued a pretty staunch friend, and one of whom a man might reasonably be proud. The knave sniggered maliciously. ‘A crooked dwarfish man left it,’ he said. ‘I doubt I might call him a tailor and not be far out.’ ‘Chut!’ I answered--but I was a little out of countenance, nevertheless. ‘I understand. An honest fellow enough, and in debt to me! I am glad he remembered. But when am I to go, friend?’