At last the prison surgeon interposed and put all the Italians upon hospital diet. This was somewhat better, but a meagre enough supply, consisting daily of three issues of thin soup, a morsel of roast mutton which could be swallowed in one mouthful, and three ounces of white bread. As Silvio Pellico’s health improved this allowance proved more and more insufficient and he was always hungry. Even the barber who came up from Brünn to attend on the prisoners said it was common talk in the town that they did not get enough to eat and wanted to bring a white loaf when he arrived every Saturday. Permission to exercise in the open air twice weekly had been conceded from the first, and was at the last allowed daily. Each prisoner was marched out singly, escorted by two gaolers armed with loaded muskets. This took place in the general yard where there were often many ordinary prisoners, all of whom saluted courteously and were often heard to remark, “This poor man is no real offender and yet he is treated much worse than we are.” Now and again one would come up to Pellico and say sympathetically that he hoped he was feeling better, and beg to be allowed to shake his hand. Visitors who came to call on the officials were always deeply interested in the Italians and watched them curiously but kindly. “There is a gentleman who will not make old bones,”--Pellico heard some one say,--“death is written on his face.” At this time so great was his weakness that, heavily chained as he was, he could barely crawl to the yard, where he threw himself full length on the grass to lie there in the sunshine until the exercise was over. The officers’ families lived near at hand and the members, particularly the ladies and children, never failed when they met the Italian prisoners to greet them with kindly looks and expressions. The superintendent’s wife, who was in failing health and was always carried out on a sofa, smiled and spoke hopefully to Pellico, and other ladies never failed to regret that they could do nothing to soften the prisoners’ lot. It was a great grief to Pellico when circumstances led to the removal of these tender-hearted friends from Spielberg.