The physician of the prison condescended to authorize on the morrow the Count de Charney’s resumption of his daily exercise. He was allowed the freedom of the little court, not only at the usual hours, but at any moment of the day. Air and exercise were considered indispensable to his recovery; and thus, the prisoner was enabled to apply himself anew to his long-interrupted studies. In the view of committing to writing his scientific observations on the development of his plant, from the moment of its germination, he tried to seduce Ludovico into furnishing him with pens and paper. He expected, indeed, to find the jailer resume on this occasion an air of importance, and raise a thousand difficulties, but probably yield in the sequel out of love for his captive, or his god-daughter, or worldly pelf; for where perquisites were concerned, turnkey-nature was still uppermost. But to Charney’s great surprise, Ludovico received his propositions with the most frank good-humour. “Pens and ink? Nothing more easy, _Signor Conte_!” said he, tapping his pipe and turning aside his head to keep it alive by a whiff or two; for he made it a point to abstain from smoking in presence of the Count, to whom the smell of tobacco was disagreeable. “I, for my part, have no objection. But you see, such little tools as pens and paper remain under the lock and key of the governor, not under mine; and if you want writing materials, you have only to memorialize the captain-commandant, and your business is done!” Charney smiled, and persevered. “But in order to frame my petition, good Ludovico,” said he, “pens, ink, and paper are, in the first instance, indispensable?” “True, _eccellenza_, true! But we must drag back the donkey by the tail to make it get on—no uncommon method with petitions,” quoth the jailer, half aside, crossing his hands consequentially behind him. “I must go straight to the governor, and tell him you have a request to make, no matter about what. That is not my business, but his and yours. If inconvenient to him to visit you in person, he’ll send his man of business, who will furnish you with a pen and a piece of stamped paper, just one sheet, ruled in form for a petition, on which you must inscribe your memorial in his presence; after which, he places his seal on it in yours; you return the pen to him, he makes you a bow, and away he goes with the petition!” “But it is not from the governor I ask for paper, Ludovico, ’tis from yourself.” “From me? You don’t then happen to know my orders!” replied the jailer, resuming his accustomed severity. Then drawing a deep breath of his pipe, he exhaled the smoke with much deliberation, eying the Count askance during the process, turned on his heel, and quitted the room. Next day, when Charney returned to the charge, Ludovico contented himself with winking his eye, shaking his head, and shrugging his shoulders. Not a word now was to be extracted from him.