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the envelope of a fact may be to some purpose. The instinct of us all is
to leave between the fact which interests us and ourselves but the
thinnest possible cover. Therefore it was that Ursus returned to the
alley in which the lower entrance to the prison was situated.
Just as he entered it he heard one stroke of the clock, then a second.
"
Hold," thought he; "can it be midnight already?"
Mechanically he set himself to count.
"
Three, four, five."
He mused.
"At what long intervals this clock strikes! how slowly! Six; seven!"
Then he remarked,--
"What a melancholy sound! Eight, nine! Ah! nothing can be more natural;
it's dull work for a clock to live in a prison. Ten! Besides, there is
the cemetery. This clock sounds the hour to the living, and eternity to
the dead. Eleven! Alas! to strike the hour to him who is not free is
also to chronicle an eternity. Twelve!"
He paused.
712
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