Six years afterwards, on a cold, dreary November day, a grumbling,
discontented crowd was waiting before the building in which the weal
and woe of the country of N---- were decided. An important conference
had just been concluded,--a consultation concerning increasing the
severity of the punishments inflicted upon political criminals.
Carriages drove up, and ministers and councilors entered them. At last
a brilliant equipage, drawn by two snorting, spirited gray horses,
dashed up so quickly that the crowd shrank back in terror, and looked
at the door in eager expectation. Two servants hastily let down the
steps. A slender man appeared who had not yet reached middle life, but
on whose pallid face sharp lines were already visible. He did not
vouchsafe to cast a glance at the throng, but as he entered the
carriage he heard those near him whisper, "That is Ottmar; he is one of
the worst of them." The door was closed, the footmen sprang back to
their places, and the impatient steeds dashed through the crowd like
griffins.
"Do you hate me at last?" murmured the cold man in the carriage. "It is
well; if I once see I am hated I shall be able to shake off this
remnant of conscientiousness that still tortures me, and henceforth
live only for myself and my own aims."
The carriage stopped before a castle-like building, the state prison.
Ottmar had for some time been commissioner of one of the revolutionary
provinces of the country, where of late a new uprising was feared, and
had therefore received orders to try to draw from the political
prisoners, who were natives of that region, disclosures which might
place some clue to the conspiracy in the hands of the government. The
prince had selected him for this office because his cold watchfulness,
smoothness, and skill in dealing with different natures seemed to make
him peculiarly fitted for it. During the short time that Ottmar had
been in the employ of the N---- government he had risen to the rank of
privy councilor and member of the council of state, and displayed his
talents in the widest spheres. He was the trusted friend of the young
prince, over whom he exerted an inexplicable power, executor of the
most secret measures, not unfrequently employed to deal with the agents
of foreign courts, and his enemies began to fear him more and more when
they perceived too late that his influence had already pervaded the
whole court.
What it had cost him to submit and cringe to a system which his inmost
soul abhorred, though with the longing to be or strive for something
better he had violently crushed down every other feeling, as egotism
and ambition had always suppressed the better emotions of unbiased
convictions, was stamped in terrible characters upon the haggard,
pallid, but still handsome face, the frail but haughtily erect figure.
He walked in gloomy silence behind the guide, who was taking him to the
worst criminals in the lower story. A cold breeze blew over him,
chilling his breast, and he involuntarily said to himself, "Yet men are
compelled to live here!" It seemed as if the sound of despairing sobs
reached his ear through one of the iron doors. He paused and listened.
A low, soft voice appeared to be speaking words of solemn warning.
"Open this cell," he said to his guide; but the latter did not move.
"Oh, Herr Baron!" he said, imploringly, "shall we not go to the others
first?--the man in there is very violent."
"Open the door!" said _Heinrich_, imperiously.
"Have mercy; we are all ruined men if you do not have mercy upon us!"
stammered the guide, in the greatest confusion.
"What is the matter with you?" asked _Heinrich_, extremely perplexed.
"I will be merciful if I can, but open the door at once."
The man hesitatingly unlocked the low door, and _Heinrich_ stood in the
entrance as if spell-bound. A young girl, thoughtful and beautiful as
artists paint the Muse of History, was sitting on a stool holding in
her lap a book, from which she had apparently just been reading aloud.
She was bending over the prisoner, who had thrown himself weeping on
the ground at her feet, and speaking to him consolingly. _Heinrich_
motioned to the guide to be silent, and hastily retreated behind the
door that he might not be seen.
"You have come too early, surely. I have not yet spent half an hour
with Sebastian," said the young girl. A pale sunbeam fell upon her as
she raised her head and shook back from her face a mass of luxuriant
curls. Her full lips pouted a little as she asked the jailer, "What is
the matter with you to-day? why do you look at me so?"
"You must come out now," said he.
She rose slowly.
"Stand up, Sebastian; be reasonable."
She bent over the despairing man and tried to help him rise; but he
pressed his face still more closely to the damp ground.
"Stand up!" she suddenly commanded. "Behave like a man, not like a
child, if you wish me ever to come here again."
The prisoner rose. He was an old man, decrepit and thin, with the
staring eyes peculiar to those who for years have vainly endeavored to
pierce with their glances the dungeon walls that surround them.
"Oh, do not be angry!" he pleaded. "I am calm now."
"Farewell for to-day, my poor Sebastian!" she said, returning to her
former wonderfully gentle tone, and walked quickly along the passage to
the next door. As she looked round to see if the warden was going to
open it for her she perceived _Heinrich_, who could now no longer
conceal himself. He advanced towards her, and she watched his approach
with surprise, but very calmly. Her gaze had only been fixed upon his
breast, which glittered with orders; but as he stood silently before
her in his manly dignity she raised her dark eyes to his, and their
glances met like electric sparks. A flush slowly suffused the young
girl's clearly cut face, and she involuntarily cast down her eyes as if
she had received a shock.
"I am very much surprised to find such charming society in these
inhospitable apartments, Fraeulein," _Heinrich_ began.
"I do not think it so very astonishing if the jailer's daughter seeks
to aid her father in his arduous duties."
"Pardon me, Fraeulein, if I take the liberty of doubting the accuracy of
that statement," said _Heinrich_. "A jailer's daughter does not use
such language; besides, the alarm displayed just now when I wished to
enter the cell was far too great for me not to attribute more
importance to your incognito. I am, unfortunately, compelled to look at
your romantic appearance here through the extremely prosaic spectacles
of an official, whose duty it is to obtain information in regard to
every unusual event; therefore, by virtue of my office, I must inquire
your name as well as request an explanation of your object."
The young girl looked at him with a long, steady gaze, while an
expression played around her lips which _Heinrich_ had never before
seen on a woman's face,--a slight shade of irony.
"Very well, sir; if these people have already betrayed me I need use no
further deception. I did not employ it for my own sake, but on account
of these poor employees whom I have estranged from their duty. My name
I hope I may be permitted to conceal; but I owe you an explanation
about my object: it is only to do good. As others go to hospitals to
heal diseased bodies, the majority of which can no longer be saved, I
come hither to aid sick souls, where often the best and highest results
may be effected. Do you think that so romantic? I have surely done no
wrong in bribing the officials here, partly by money, partly by kind
words, to allow me to make a daily round through the cells. In
charitable institutions the doors and gates stand open to all who wish
to bring aid and consolation to the sufferers. The thrice wretched
unfortunates in our prisons are refused all means of cheering and
ennobling them. No account is taken of individuality here, where
individuality is the sole standard of measurement. A chaplain is sent
to admonish criminals to repent, who is to convert them all in a lump
according to his own theories; but people trouble themselves very
little about the result of this manufacturing method of conversion, and
when at the expiration of their imprisonment the criminals are sent
back into the world, they begin again just where they stopped years
before."
"Oh, Fraeulein, you go too far! The punishment itself does most, for it
terrifies them," replied _Heinrich_.
"Some, but certainly by far the smallest number. Many in the course
of years become so hardened to it by custom that it loses its terrors,
and the only moral the majority draw from imprisonment is--to manage
more cautiously in future. There is only one guarantee for the
permanent harmlessness of the criminal who cannot be imprisoned for
life--amendment; but this principal object of punishment is always made
subservient to the principle of avenging the insulted law."
"Well, and can you tell me also how this amendment is to be effected?"
asked _Heinrich_, with increasing interest.
"I think by the admitting of judicious, trustworthy persons who can
understand these different characters, and influence by advice and
instruction, where the latter is needed."
"I admire your sanguine, philanthropic ideas," replied _Heinrich_; "but
tell me yourself, my honored Fraeulein, would not the state have too
much to do if it was compelled to take into account the peculiarities
of each individual criminal, and establish and pay a whole corporation
of amendment officials?"
This jeer wounded the young girl, and a deep flush crimsoned her noble,
intellectual brow for a moment; but after a pause she continued,
undaunted: "Such a task would perhaps be too visionary and
comprehensive for the government; but the citizens would come to its
aid in this as well as in benevolent institutions, and from the hearts
of the populace a corps of volunteer amendment officials would arise,
in which our noblest patriots would undoubtedly be associated. But I
have no intention of discussing a subject upon which folios have been
already written, and which you understand better than I. I only wished
to give the motive for my actions; and your recent sneer," she added,
in a slightly defiant tone, "has fully convinced me that you will at
least consider these 'sanguine philanthropic ideas' in the mind of a
fanciful young girl too harmless to put them on official record, so my
examination is doubtless over."
"Not yet," said _Heinrich_, firmly. "Your ideas and language do not
seem to me quite so harmless as you suppose. I cannot help desiring to
obtain more exact information concerning the motives of your acts and
the bearing of your influence. I must and shall find means to do so.
You stand too proudly and firmly before me for me to be able to believe
so implicitly in the purposelessness of your enthusiasm. I am a servant
of the government; as such it is both a duty and a right to ask, 'Who
are you? in what relations do you stand towards the prisoners? what is
your object?'"
"Who I am I shall not tell you; in what relations I stand towards the
prisoners and what influence I exert you can learn from themselves; as
for my object, can you not understand it? I am making myself useful. Do
you think it requires another and more important purpose to act as I
have done?"
"Making yourself useful?" repeated _Heinrich_, thoughtfully. "Do you
really imagine you are of much use here?"
"_How much_ is not for me to measure, I make myself as useful as I can.
If every one only did this the world would be happier. It is not the
success, but the will, that determines the value of an act. Vanity asks
only about the result, honest purpose is satisfied with the doing."
"Indeed!" said _Heinrich_. "Are you so totally free from vanity?"
"Oh, no!" She suddenly burst into a merry laugh, and a ray of bright
healthful enjoyment sparkled in her eyes. "I will not say that. God
forbid that I should surround myself with a false halo. I am as vain as
every other young girl; it is only where the sphere of my earnest labor
is concerned that I am humble and modest, then my own person retires
completely into the background, and I live solely to accomplish my
purpose. But in the outside world, where I am least useful, I am vain,
assuming, and selfish. I have often thought of this contradiction."
"I understand that," said _Heinrich_; "you feel small in comparison to
your ideas and wishes, because like all gifted human beings you always
desire more than you can accomplish. But when, outside of this sphere,
you meet with commonplace, petty natures, you feel great, because you
desire and accomplish so much more than they. Am I not right?"
The girl raised her eyes in astonishment, and looked at him earnestly.
"You are right, and must have studied psychology more than one would
have expected from a 'servant of the government.'"
"There is a singular blending of jest and earnest in your disposition,"
said _Heinrich_. "I have never before witnessed such rapid transitions
from gay to grave and grave to gay in any one. Yes, I might really
believe you followed only your own impulses without motive or purpose."
"Indeed, indeed you can! Believe me, I am doing nothing and want
nothing, except to prove my love for mankind in every possible way. You
seem to give me credit for political intrigues and dangerous
connections. Oh, go to the prisoners, and convince yourself whether the
spirit I instill is a revolutionary one or one of humility and
repentance! By the manner in which I have taught these people to bear
their misfortunes you will see whether my intentions are good and pure;
and then you will give no information, but permit me to continue my
office here, will you not?"
_Heinrich_ made no reply; he was gazing earnestly into the sparkling
eyes of the suppliant. Suddenly he pointed to the nearest door. "Go in
to the prisoner there,--unobserved; I will watch how you discharge the
duties of your office and then decide."
The warder opened the door, and the young girl quietly entered. A
shrill cry of joy greeted her. "Oh, Prison Fairy! dear Prison Fairy!
have you come at last?" exclaimed a young man.
"Why does he call her that?" _Heinrich_ asked the turnkey, in a low
tone.
"One of the prisoners gave her the name, and since then we have all
called her by it, because we know no other, and this suits her so
well."
"Oh, dear Fairy, I have passed another terrible night! So long as you
are here I am as good as a child," continued the prisoner; "but when
you go away, the old sorrow bursts forth again in all its fury. Oh, if
I could go out into the world and satisfy the impulses of my own heart!
Something might be made of me now, but after five years it will perhaps
be too late. I felt that last night. True, the power to do evil may
perhaps be broken in a ten years' imprisonment, but so is the strength
to do well; and when I am sent out of this place, crippled in body and
soul, an outcast from society, robbed of all civil honors and ability,
it will get the dominion over me again. Then I shall be a mere idiot,
who can no longer think of or feel anything except the greatness of his
own misery; and for the assault I committed in a moment of passion, a
twofold murder will have been practiced upon my body and soul during
these ten years!"
"Albert, why are you in such a horrible mood to-day?" asked the young
girl, in alarm. "You have not been so for a long time."
"Because I have been obliged to wait for you during so many painful
hours; because I thought you were not coming again, and felt that in
you alone is rooted the power which has upheld me for the last three
years, that I should be lost if you remained away. No, I have not
deserved this punishment."
"Albert, shall I repeat what I have always told you? Repeat it
yourself."
"You said I was aware of the punishment, and voluntarily drew it upon
myself by my crime, that I must bear what was the result of my own
guilt; but I assure you again and again that if that terrible moment I
had been sufficiently master of myself to be able to think, I should
never have committed the crime; not from fear of the punishment, but of
the sin."
"That excuses you in my eyes, but not in those of the law. Will you
never be able to perceive that a man of such blind passions must be
made harmless? Who will guarantee that the next instant, spite of all
good resolutions, he may not be attacked by the same madness and commit
a second murder?"
"Harmless! Yes, yes, I have been made harmless!" he groaned. "Why do
you conjure up all the stings of conscience when I so greatly need
consolation?"
"Because I see more clearly than ever that only the memory of your
guilt makes your misery endurable; because you complain of the
injustice of your punishment, and always become calmer when forced to
acknowledge that, if not deserved, it was at least necessary and
unfailing. And has not God sent a comfort to you in your sorrow,--a
soul which understands you, which brings news of your beloved into your
dungeon, and keeps the heart of your betrothed bride faithful to you?
Is not this a divine mercy which can cheer you?"
"Yes, yes, I acknowledge the blessing, and for the sake of this mercy
will strive and hope that I may procure for you the only reward you can
receive, noble, wonderful creature!--the consciousness of having saved
a soul!"
"Yes, my friend, give me that reward; it is the noblest gift which can
be bestowed upon me for my efforts; and if I live to see the day when,
purified and ennobled, you return to the world, I shall thank God more
fervently than ever for having given me a heart to suffer with others,
and also make them rejoice."
"And some day I will tell my children of the 'Prison Fairy!'" cried the
young man, transported with hope.
Just at that moment _Heinrich_ appeared in the doorway. "Well, sir,"
said the young girl, "is any other motive needed for my conduct? Do you
now believe that such a moment would outweigh years of fruitless toil?"
"I understand and believe you, for you are a perfect enthusiast," said
_Heinrich_, seizing her hand.
"Do you call this enthusiasm?" she said. "If so, every great act of
love, from Christ's down to our own times, has been enthusiasm, and
nothing is true and real except enthusiasm and its results. I confess,
sir, that if all mankind shared your views, I would rather live with my
prisoners in this dungeon than in the outside world!"
_Heinrich_ gazed in astonishment at the proud, girlish figure, with the
natural dignity of a pure, unshaken self-appreciation on the undaunted
brow, and the alluring grace of true womanhood in the soft, undulating
outlines of the whole frame; and an admiring reverence overwhelmed him,
such as, for many a long year, no woman had inspired in his breast.
"Do not misunderstand me, Fraeulein. You take the word in a different
sense from the one intended. Where enthusiasm is united to such energy
as you possess, it has always accomplished the noblest deeds the world
has ever known; but we usually give that name----"
"To what we have no power to feel ourselves," involuntarily interrupted
the excited girl; and it seemed as if her glance rested sorrowfully
upon _Heinrich's_ beautiful, expressive features.
_Heinrich_ stood speechless. He felt as if a burning brand had suddenly
been cast into the dark recesses of his soul, and his spiritual eyes
were following the light as it penetrated deeper and deeper.
Just at that moment the prisoner's voice interrupted his reverie.
"Pardon me, sir," he began, timidly, "have I not the honor of seeing
Herr von Ottmar?"
"Albert!" exclaimed _Heinrich_, "is it really you? I thought I
recognized you, but doubted it, because I should have expected to find
you in a monastery rather than a dungeon, and besides, you are very
much altered. How did you, of all the world, happen to be placed in
such close confinement?"
"Oh, Herr von Ottmar, you were so kind to me at college, may I tell you
the story of my misfortune?" said Albert, the person who had been at
the Jesuit college with _Heinrich_, and of whom he had spoken in his
interview with Severinus.
"Will you allow it, Fraeulein?" asked _Heinrich_.
"Certainly," replied the young girl, joyfully. "Perhaps the tragical
history may for once arouse even in you the enthusiasm of compassion."
With these words she glanced at _Heinrich_ with a pleading,
inexpressibly charming smile. The latter could not turn his eyes away
from the wonderfully changeful face, but murmured, as if in assent,
"Prison Fairy!"
Meantime Albert had commenced his story. At first _Heinrich_ gave it
very little attention; gradually, however, he became attracted and
listened eagerly, even anxiously. Albert related how, after being
expelled from the order in the second year of his novitiate, he had for
some time earned a scanty support, and at last lived several years as a
tutor in the family of a wealthy German merchant. Six years before,
this family removed from Italy to Germany, and in fact to the very
capital where Ottmar had lived before his departure for N----. "There,"
said he, "I became acquainted with a young girl,--a girl who was really
as pure and blooming as a rose. I had never loved a woman before,--the
dark, ardent Italians were repulsive to my quiet nature,--but when I
found the thoughtful, golden-haired German maiden, I clung to her with
fervent affection. She loved me; and I, who had been tossed about the
world from a child, was intoxicated by her tenderness, as if it were
the aroma of some costly wine. I gradually neglected my pupils, my
duty, and several times received censure; but in vain. Passion, so long
repressed, was aroused, and locked me, the novice, completely within
its magic circle.
"But now I became the sport of other feelings, which were more
dangerous to me,--I grew jealous. My beloved suddenly seemed changed.
She became timid, absent-minded, embarrassed, and day by day colder. I
spoke to her father. The old man asked me whether I doubted the virtue
of his child. The fever of jealousy and suspicion increased. I had no
thoughts for anything else, and no longer knew what I was doing. Then
one day my employers dismissed me. They had grown weary of my indolence
and absence of mind, and I was penniless. With an agonized soul I
hurried through the gathering twilight to seek my betrothed. I wished
to find her heart once more,--the heart for which I had sacrificed and
lost all. She was deeply moved when I told her of my misfortune and the
tortures I had suffered for her sake; and as in decisive moments a
long-concealed truth is often revealed, her innocent breast in this
agitation could no longer hide its secret. She confessed, amid tears of
agony and remorse, that she was on the point of being lost to me
forever; that an aristocratic, handsome, brilliant gentleman had
tempted her, and she was too weak to withstand him; that he had loaded
her and her father with favors of all kinds, and she had thought
gratitude made it her duty to obey him; nay, he had even persuaded her
to come to his garden, but there, heaven be praised! she had been saved
from disgrace by his old valet. The gentleman must have gone away an a
journey, for she had heard nothing more from him.
"So I had sacrificed everything, and this was my reward. I stood
silent, trembling from head to foot, as I leaned against the window in
the little dark room on the ground-floor. I was not accustomed to say
much, but I felt all the more. A cold perspiration trickled down my
forehead; my clammy hands clinched the sill; the lights out-of-doors
cast strange, unsteady shadows into the room, and dim, restless shadows
settled upon my brain. At last I asked with difficulty, 'Who is the
scoundrel?' The young girl had been standing beside me pale and
trembling, with her eyes fixed intently upon the street. Suddenly she
screamed and retreated from the window alarm. There he comes! so he
hasn't gone yet! It is he! he is coming!' I saw a tall, slight figure,
closely wrapped in a cloak approach the house; heard that it was he!
The blood rushed to my brain! I seized an axe that was lying near the
stove, dashed out, and felled the approaching figure to the ground! The
young girl ran after me terror, saw the wounded man, and screamed,
Jesus Maria! it is not he! You have killed an innocent person!' I felt
bewildered and unable to move. Just then the man opened his eyes,
looked at me, and gasped my name. My heart seemed to stop beating! I
had killed Father Severinus!"
A long pause ensued. The prisoner was living over these scenes again,
and needed a moment to collect his thoughts.
_Heinrich_ gazed fixedly at the floor in silence. The Prison Fairy, in
her dark dress, leaned calmly against the wall, her eyes resting on
_Heinrich's_ agitated face.
"What is the young girl's name?" asked _Heinrich_.
"Roeschen, the daughter of Martin the beadle," replied Albert.
"And you do not know the name of your rival?"
"I have never learned it," continued Albert "I said no more to Roeschen
that terrible evening. She was the first to regain composure, and made
me understand I must go home. Her father returned immediately after,
and procured assistance for the wounded man, who did not again recover
his consciousness while in his house. The old man stated that he had
found him in the street. He could swear to this deposition, for he did
not suspect the true state of affairs. So no one thought of me except
Roeschen. She thought he would never open his eyes again to betray me,
and before the police came to Martin's house, to avoid a possible
cross-examination, went to one of Princess Ottilie's maids. The latter
instantly took her to the princess--"
"What, to Ottilie?" eagerly interrupted _Heinrich_.
"Certainly," replied Albert; "the princess has known her for a long
time through the maid, who was well disposed towards Roeschen, and often
gave her work. The princess, gracious and benevolent as she always is,
had once told her if she had anything to ask to come to her. So on this
terrible day Roeschen told the noble lady all her troubles, and the
princess induced her to take an oath never to reveal to me nor any one
else who her tempter was."
"Did Roeschen mention his name to her?" asked _Heinrich_.
"Yes; and the princess must have been very kindly disposed towards the
gentleman,--she insisted so earnestly that it should remain concealed.
Then she gave Roeschen money to aid me to escape and enable me to
support myself for a long time, and promised to take her under her
protection. In the firm conviction that Severinus could not survive the
blow, I was mad enough to fly to N----, my native country. But although
the doctors gave him up, he recovered his senses sufficiently to
denounce me as the criminal. He expressed the most positive suspicion
that I had made the murderous assault solely from revenge towards him
because he had been the first in the college to declare me useless. A
warrant was issued, and I was arrested and brought up for trial."
"But how did you happen to receive so severe a punishment, when
Severinus escaped with his life and you had no premeditated design?"
asked _Heinrich_.
"But I had no means of proving the fact!" cried Albert, despairingly.
"I could do nothing but protest that I did not wish to punish
Severinus, but the man who had tempted my betrothed bride. I could not
tell who this tempter was, for I did not know; and I wished to conceal
the name of my betrothed, for I would have died rather than bring the
hitherto blameless girl into a disgraceful trial and brand her for
life. Thus I could not prove the circumstances which might have placed
my act in a more favorable light, and consequently my whole defense was
rejected as a mere subterfuge. The statements of the angry Severinus
were far more clear and positive than mine, so I was sentenced to ten
years' imprisonment in irons, and would gladly bear my misery, nay,
even death," he added, gnashing his teeth, "if I had only struck down
that scoundrel of a seducer instead of the innocent Severinus, or at
least could ever discover who he is!"
"Who he is? Look at me, Albert!" cried _Heinrich_. "I am that
_scoundrel_!"
"Sir, you only tell me so because I stand before you in chains," cried
Albert, starting like a wounded animal. His veins swelled, his fingers
tore at his fetters, his breast heaved convulsively.
"Do you think so, unhappy man?" cried _Heinrich_. "Now let us see
whether you will venture to lay hands upon me."
With these words he led the young girl out of the cell, and ordered the
jailer to remove the irons at once.
"I command it, and will be responsible," he said, imperiously, as they
hesitated, "and then lock us both in from the outside." The fetters
were taken off, and the turnkeys withdrew, locking the door behind
them.
"Now summon up your courage; you see that I am unarmed and your chains
are removed," said _Heinrich_, standing directly before him, and gazing
at him with an unwavering glance.
The unhappy roan stood motionless for a moment, engaged in a most
violent struggle with his emotions. At last his whole frame trembled,
his hands fell as if weighed down by fetters of double weight, and he
sank at _Heinrich's_ feet, unable to utter a word.
The latter gazed at him a moment in silence, and then knocked on the
door. The turnkeys came in anxiously and raised Albert, but his knees
still trembled so violently that he was obliged to sit down on his bed.
The Prison Fairy, with a sublime expression of sympathy, stroked his
burning brow, and gazed at _Heinrich_ with imploring expectation.
The latter quietly approached the group. "Albert, I have convinced
myself that you can subdue your passions. You are worthy of the freedom
I shall now help you secure. You shall no longer suffer for my
frivolity, and both you and this lady shall be convinced that I am no
scoundrel. Farewell for to-day."
Albert suddenly clasped his hands over his brow, and a flood of tears
relieved his oppressed heart. _Heinrich_ looked for a long time at the
young girl, who, with pallid face, was gazing silently at the floor,
then begged her to follow him, and left the cell.