Ludovico declined the gift, but refused it with a smile; and Charney, though somewhat discountenanced, resolved to persevere. With adroit circumlocution, he observed, “I am aware that a toy, a rattle, a _flower_, would be a present better suited to Antonio’s age; but you can sell the goblet, and procure those trifles in abundance with the price.” And, lo! _à propos of flowers_, the Count embarked at once into his subject. Patriotism, paternal love, personal interest, every influential motive of human action, were thus put in motion in order to accomplish the preservation of a plant! Charney could scarcely have done more for his own. Judge whether it had ingratiated itself into his affections! “_Signor Conte!_” replied Ludovico, at the conclusion of the harangue, “_riprendi sua nacchera indorata!_ Were this pretty bauble missing from your toilet-case, its companions might fret after it! At three months old, my bantling has scarce wit enough to drink out of a goblet; and with respect to your gilly-flower—” “_Is_ it a gilly-flower?” inquired Charney, with eagerness. “_Sac à papious!_ how should I know? All flowers are more or less gilly-flowers! But as to sparing the life of yours, eccellenza, methinks the request comes late in the day. My boot would have been better acquainted with it long ago, had I not perceived your partiality for the poor weed!” “Oh! as to my partiality,” interrupted Charney, “I beg to assure you—” “Ta, ta, ta, ta! What need of assurance,” cried Ludovico. “I know whereabouts you are better than you do. Men _must_ have _something_ to love; and state prisoners have small choice allowed them in their whims. Why, among my boarders here, _Signor Conte_ (most of whom were grand gentry, and great wiseacres in their day, for ’tis not the small fry they send into harbour at Fenestrella), you’d be surprised at what little cost they manage to divert themselves! One catches flies—no harm in that; another—” and Ludovico winked knowingly, to signify the application—“another chops a solid deal table into chips, without considering how far I may be responsible for its preservation.” The Count vainly tried to interpose a word: Ludovico went on: “Some amuse themselves with rearing linnets and goldfinches; others have a fancy for white mice. For my part, poor souls, I have so much respect for their pets, that I had a fine Angora cat of my own, with long white silken hair, you’d have sworn ’twas a muff when ’twas asleep!—a cat that my wife doated on, to say nothing of myself. Well, I gave it away, lest the creature should take a fancy to some of their favourites. All the cats in the creation ought not to weigh against so much as a mouse belonging to a captive!” “Well thought, well expressed, my worthy friend!” cried Charney, piqued at the inference which degraded him to the level of such wretched predilections. “But know that this plant is something more to me than a kill-time.”