Page:The Jail, Experiences in 1916.pdf/134

 "Take them away again, madam," I said, "where I am living, man alone can survive, but not a flower."

"May he smell them?" asked Madam M. L. with delicate irony.

"Yes, he may smell them."

The ten minutes had elapsed,—Frank drew out his watch. Madam M. L. could return to Bohemia.

We lost the old man Nicolodi. Warder Sponner came in, took him away to the office, and when he brought him back half an hour later, the old man began to collect his belongings,—he was discharged from jail and was to proceed to somewhere in upper Austria, into an internment camp. Mr. Fiedler carried his box into the superintendent's office,—they ordered a cab for the old fellow to convey him to the station under escort of a defence-corps man. He took his leave touchingly, for everybody in the cell he had a pleasant word, which however nobody understood, and everybody said something to him in reply which he also did not understand,—as is usual among the Austrian nations. The old man was an Italian, and in our room there were only three people who could make themselves understood to him,—Budi, Papa Declich and myself.

While he was taking his leave, Mr. Karl was meddling with his bag,—the old man had a small handbag with a piece of bread, butter and three bottles of wine he had saved up in it.—whereupon with conspicuous readiness he carried this bag for him into the superintendent's room.

On the following evening Mr. Karl began drinking away merrily. He was drinking Nicolodi's wine, the three bottles, in place of which he had slipped three bottles filled with water into his bag.

On the morning of the following day Mr. Fiedler burst furiously into the room, swearing at the dishonesty of the world, at the thievishness which flourished even in jail, at the rascality which was