“Come, come! compose yourself!” answered Ludovico, assuming the paternal tone of a father comforting his child for the loss of a favourite plaything. “Compose yourself, and do not expose your limbs to cold, by throwing off your clothes in this way. Listen to reason!” he continued, disposing the covering round the person of his patient. “Was I to hesitate between the life of a gilly-flower and the life of a _man_? Certainly not! ’Twould have been a sin—a murder!” Charney groaned heavily. “However, I hadn’t the heart to plunge the poor thing head foremost into the smoking kettle. I thought a loan might do as well as total pillage; so, with my wife’s scissors, I snipped off leaves enough for a strong infusion (sparing the buds; for the jade has now _three_ flower-buds for her top-knot), and though her foliage is a little the thinner, I’ve a notion the plant will not suffer from thinning. _Picciola_ will, perhaps, be the better for the job, as well as her master. So now, be prudent, _eccellenza_! only be prudent, and all will go by clock-work at Fenestrella.” Charney, directing a glance of grateful affection towards his jailer, extended towards him a hand which, _this_ time, Ludovico felt himself privileged to accept; for the eyes of the Count were moistened by tears of emotion. But suddenly recollecting himself, and angry with his own infraction of the rule he had traced for his conduct towards those committed to his charge, the muscles of Ludovico’s dark face contracted, and he resumed his harsh, surly, every-day tone. Though still holding within his own the hand of his prisoner, he affected to give a professional turn to his attitude. “See!” cried he, “in spite of my injunctions, you still persist in uncovering yourself. Remember, sir, I am responsible for your recovery!” And, after further remonstrances, made in the dry tone of office, Ludovico quitted the room, murmuring to the accompaniment of his rattling keys, the burden of his favourite song: “I’m a jailer by my trade; A better ne’er was made. Easy ’tis to laugh for those that win, man! I’d rather turn the key Than have it turned on me. Better out of doors than always in, man! With a lira-lira-la—driva din, man!” [Illustration] CHAPTER VIII. During the remainder of that and the following day Charney exhibited the depression of mind and body which results from every great physical crisis. But on the third day he resumed his powers of thought and action; and, if still detained by weakness on his pillow, the time was not far distant when he was likely to resume his former habits of life.