“What signifies? so it serves but to recall to your mind the green tree under which your mother hushed your infancy to rest, _per Bacco!_ I give it leave to overshadow half the court. My instructions say nothing about weeding or hoeing, so e’en let it grow and welcome! Were it to turn out a tree, indeed, so as to assist you in escalading the walls, the case were different! But there is time before us to look after the business—eh! _eccellenza?_” said the jailer, with a coarse laugh. “Not that you hav’n’t my best wishes for the recovery of the free use of your legs and lungs; but all must come in course of time, and the regular way. For if you were to make an attempt at escape—” “Well! and if I were?” said Charney, with a smile. “Thunder and hail!—you’d find Ludovico a stout obstacle in your way! I’d order the sentry to fire at you, with as little scruple as at a rabbit! Such are my instructions! But as to doing mischief to a poor harmless gilly-flower, I look upon that man they tell of who killed the pet-spider of the prisoner under his charge, as a wretch not worthy to be a jailer! ’Twas a base action, _eccellenza_—nay, a crime!” Charney felt amazed and touched by the discovery of so much sensibility on the part of his jailer. But now that he had begun to entertain an esteem for the man, his vanity rendered it doubly essential to assign a rational motive for his passion. “Accept my thanks, good Ludovico,” said he, “for your good-will. I own that the plant in question affords me scope for a variety of scientific observations. I am fond of studying its physiological phenomena.” Then (as Ludovico’s vague nodding of the head convinced him that the poor fellow understood not a syllable he was saying) he added, “More particularly as the class to which it belongs possesses medicinal qualities, highly favourable to a disorder to which I am subject.” A falsehood from the lips of the noble Count de Charney! and merely to evade the contempt of a jailer, who, for the moment, represented the whole human species in the eyes of the captive. “Indeed!” cried Ludovico; “then all I have to say is, that if the poor thing is so serviceable to you, you are not so grateful to it as you ought to be. If I hadn’t been at the pains of watering it for you now and then, on my way hither with your meals, _la povera picciola_ would have died of thirst. _Addio, Signor Conte!_” [Illustration] “One moment, my good friend,” exclaimed Charney, more and more amazed to discover such delicacy of mind so roughly enclosed, and repentant at having so long mistaken the character of his jailer. “Since you have interested yourself in my pursuits, and without vaunting your services, accept, I entreat you, this small memento of my gratitude! Should better times await me, I will not forget you!” And once more he tendered the goblet; which this time Ludovico examined with a sort of vague curiosity.