Cornelius continued:-"For heaven is our home, Our true home, as from thence comes our soul, As thither our soul returns,--Our soul, that is to say, our perfume."
Gryphus went up to the prisoner and said,-"But you don't see that I have taken means to get you under, and to force you to confess your crimes."
"Are you mad, my dear Master Gryphus?" asked Cornelius.
And, as he now for the first time observed the frenzied features, the flashing eyes, and foaming mouth of the old jailer, he said,-"Bless the man, he is more than mad, he is furious."
Gryphus flourished his stick above his head, but Van Baerle moved not, and remained standing with his arms akimbo.
"It seems your intention to threaten me, Master Gryphus."
"Yes, indeed, I threaten you," cried the jailer.
"And with what?"
"First of all, look at what I have in my hand."
"I think that's a stick," said Cornelius calmly, "but I don't suppose you will threaten me with that."
"Oh, you don't suppose! why not?"
"Because any jailer who strikes a prisoner is liable to two penalties,--the first laid down in Article 9 of the regulations at Loewestein:-"'Any jailer, inspector, or turnkey who lays hands upon any prisoner of State will be dismissed.'"
"Yes, who lays hands," said Gryphus, mad with rage, "but there is not a word about a stick in the regulation."
"And the second," continued Cornelius, "which is not written in the regulation, but which is to be found elsewhere:-"'Whosoever takes up the stick will be thrashed by the stick.'"
Gryphus, growing more and more exasperated by the calm and sententious tone of Cornelius, brandished his cudgel, but at the moment when he raised it Cornelius rushed at him, snatched it from his hands, and put it under his own arm.
Gryphus fairly bellowed with rage.
"Hush, hush, my good man," said Cornelius, "don't do anything to lose your place."
"Ah, you sorcerer! I'll pinch you worse," roared Gryphus.
"I wish you may."
"Don't you see my hand is empty?"
"Yes, I see it, and I am glad of it."
"You know that it is not generally so when I come upstairs in the morning."
"It's true, you generally bring me the worst soup, and the most miserable rations one can imagine. But that's not a punishment to me; I eat only bread, and the worse the bread is to your taste, the better it is to mine."
"How so?"
"Oh, it's a very simple thing."
"Well, tell it me," said Gryphus.
"Very willingly. I know that in giving me bad bread you think you do me harm."