I look across at the drunk. "You'd do best to keep hush, friend. You'll walk out of here tomorrow, but not if you catch the eye of that little Count. If he has his fun with you, you won't be going anywhere."
I look at the others in our cells. "I wonder how many of us will make it out."
I will sit a while, then start humming a tune to pass the time. If no one objects, I'll quietly sing the song that goes with it. It's a traditional highwayman's song, about a dashing rogue getting caught, sentenced to death, and lamenting that he'll not see his love again. In a curious twist of the song, it continues in the rogue's voice as it describes the night in the cell, being led out at dawn to the gallows, seeing his love that one last time across the crowd, and then ending abruptly -- presumably when the noose is wrung.
I stifle a sly grin after the song is done.