Читать книгу Under Sentence of Death; Or, a Criminal's Last Hours - Victor Hugo - Страница 31

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A man has just come in with his hat on; he produced a foot-rule from his pocket, and commenced measuring the stonework of the wall, murmuring to himself, “It is so;” and again, “No, that will not do.”

I asked the gendarme who this was. It appears that he is a sort of assistant architect employed in the prison.

He seemed to feel some curiosity about me, for he whispered a few inquiries to the turnkey who accompanied him; then he fixed his eyes upon me, and, shaking his head in a careless manner, began to talk in a loud voice, and continued his measurements.

When his work was over he approached me, and said in a strident voice—

“My good friend, in six months this prison will be greatly improved.”

But his manner seemed to imply, “It is a pity you will be unable to enjoy it.”

He smiled blandly, and I really thought that he was going to rally me, as you might a young bride on her nuptial morning.

The gendarme in charge of me, an old soldier with several good-conduct stripes, took upon himself to reply.

“Sir,” said he, “you must not talk so loud in the Chamber of Death.”

The architect left the room, but I remained there as dumb as one of the stones that he had been measuring.