One day, [when] <while> I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyes half open, and my cheeks livid like those in [death, I] <death. I> was overcome by gloom and misery, and often reflected I had better seek death than <desire to> remain [miserably pent up only to be let loose] in a world <which to me was> replete with wretchedness. At one time I considered whether I should not declare myself guilty, and suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been. Such were my thoughts, when the door of my apartment was opened, and Mr. Kirwin entered. His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to mine, and addressed me in French--
"I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do any thing to make you more comfortable?"
"I thank you; but all that you mention is nothing to me: on the whole earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving."
"I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I hope, soon quit this melancholy abode; for, doubtless, evidence can easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge."