His first and most assiduous visitor was the chaplain of the prison, even the worthy priest whom during his illness he had so harshly repulsed. Apprised by Ludovico of the state of despair to which the prisoner was reduced, he made his appearance, forgetful of the past, to offer his good offices, which were received with courtesy and gratitude. More amicably disposed than formerly towards mankind, the Count soon became favourably, nay, even affectionately disposed towards the man of God; and the rustic seat became once more the bench of conference. The philosopher loved to enlarge upon the wonders of his plant, the wonders of nature, and repeat the lessons of the excellent Girardi; while the priest, without bringing forward a single dogma of religion, contented himself, in the first instance, with reciting the sublime moral lessons of Christianity: grounding their strength upon the principles already imbibed by the votary of natural religion. The second visitor was the commandant; and Charney now discovered that Morand was essentially a good sort of man, whose heart was militarily disciplined; that is, disposed to torment the unfortunate beings under his charge no farther than he was necessitated by the letter of government instructions. So just, too, did he show himself in his appreciation of the merits of the two prisoners recently released, as almost to put Charney into good humour with petty tyranny. But all this was soon to end; and it became Charney’s turn to bid adieu to the priest and the captain. One fine day, when least prepared for the concession, the gates of his prison opened, and he was set at liberty! On Napoleon’s return from Austerlitz, incessantly importuned by Josephine (who had probably some person besetting her in turn with supplications in favour of the prisoner of Fenestrella), the Emperor caused an inquiry to be made into the nature of the papers seized among the effects of the Count de Charney. The cambric manuscripts were accordingly forwarded to the Tuileries, from the archives of the police, where they had been deposited; and, attracted by the singularity of their appearance, Napoleon himself deigned to investigate the indications of treason contained in their mysterious records. [Illustration] “The Count de Charney is a madman,” exclaimed the Emperor, after most deliberate examination; “a visionary and a madman; but not the dangerous person represented to me. He who could submit his powers of mind to the influence of a sorry weed, may have in him the making of an excellent botanist, but not of a conspirator. He is pardoned! Let his estates be restored to him, that he may cultivate there, unmolested, his own fields, and his taste for natural history.”