The guards escorted Gamgès down a winding staircase, and into an exiguous cell, with no other furniture than a rather uncomfortable bed in tasteless Elvish-modern, filled with straw. It was so appalling, that even a sherrifferie would have been more agreeable. They untied him and left him; the clanging of the barred door behind them was like a death-knell in Samouard's heart.
He did not sleep all night, for his mind was ridden by the thought that he must speak to the governor of the prison, find out why he was being imprisoned, and prove his innocence.
The next day, his jailer arrived with a highly unsatisfactory baguette and chocolat, which wanted no better setting than this definitely not à la mode prison.
"Why am I here?" demanded Gamgès. "May I speak to the governor?"
"I cannot answer your questions," said the jailer. "And seeing the governor would be pointless, en tout cas."
"I have done no wrong! (One can hardly call underage smoking wrong, after all.) M. de Villefaramir promised me I would be released. For the love of Elberette and Luthienne la Belle, mistress of seven kings, twelve princes, four-and-twenty dukes, and thirty-one counts, let me speak to the governor and prove that I am innocent!"
