““A gentleman in a hat just came in; he barely gave me a glance then opened out a folding foot rule and began measuring the stones in the wall from top to bottom, talking very loudly, one minute saying: "That's it"; the next: "That's not it".
I asked the policeman who it was. Apparently he is some sort of junior architect who works at the prison.
As for me, I aroused his curiosity. He exchanged a few veiled remarks with the turnkey who had come with him; then he stared at me for a moment, shook his head unconcernedly and began to talk at the top of his voice again and take measurements.
When his work was done he came over to me, saying in his booming voice: "My dear fellow, in six months' time this prison will be much improved." And his gesture seemed to add: "It's a shame you won't get the benefit of it."
He was almost smiling. I thought I saw the moment coming when he would start to pull my leg gently, like you do a young bride on her wedding night. My policeman, an old sweat with stripes, took it on himself to answer: "Monsieur," he told him, "we don't talk so loudly in a dead man's room." The architect left.
But me, I was there, like one of the stones he had been measuring.”
