No cat could
have been more gentle or more silent as I felt its edges.
I leaned over and placed my ear timidly against the outer panel.
There was no sound of breathing.
The products of the house of Strong, Bulbul & Co., of New York, could
not be more noiseless in their boxes.
A fear seizes upon me--the fear of seeing all my reporter's hopes
vanish. Was I deceived on board the _Astara_? That respiration, that
sneeze; had I dreamed it all? Was there no one in the case, not even
Zeitung? Were these really glass goods exported to Miss Zinca Klork,
Avenue Cha-Coua, Pekin, China?
No! Feeble as it is, I detect a movement inside the case! It becomes
more distinct, and I ask if the panel is going to slide, if the
prisoner is coming out of his prison to breathe the fresh air?
What I had better do to see and not to be seen is to hide between two
cases. Thanks to the darkness there is nothing to fear.
Suddenly a slight cracking greets my ear. I am not the sport of an
illusion; it is the crack of a match being lighted.
Almost immediately a few feeble rays pierce the ventilation holes of
the case.
If I had had any doubts as to the position held by the prisoner in the
scale of being, I have none now.
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