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He was an inquisitive fellow, and sometimes when she had quite

forgotten him in gazing at the prison roof and grates, and in

lifting her heart up to her husband, she would come to herself to

find him looking at her, with his knee on his bench and his saw

stopped in its work. "But it's not my business!" he would

generally say at those times, and would briskly fall to his

sawing again.

In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter

winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the rains of

autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed

two hours of every day at this place; and every day on leaving

it, she kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she

learned from her father) it might be once in five or six times:

it might be twice or thrice running: it might be, not for a week

or a fortnight together. It was enough that he could and did see

her when the chances served, and on that possibility she would

have waited out the day, seven days a week.