“Nay,” remonstrated Girardi, “I thank Heaven I am able to perceive that Bonaparte may have been deceived by appearances. His character is neither wicked nor cruel; or what was there to prevent him from putting us both to death? By restoring me to liberty, he would only atone an error; nevertheless, I should bless him as a benefactor. I find captivity, however, by no means insupportable. Full of trust in the mercy of Providence, I resign myself to the event; but the sight of my imprisonment afflicts my daughter; and for _her_ sake I desire my liberation. I would fain shorten her exile from the world, her alienation from the pleasures of her age. Say!—have _you_ no human being who sorrows over _your_ misfortunes?—no _woman_ who weeps for you in secret, to whom you would sacrifice even your _pride_, as an oppressed and injured man? Come, come, my dear brother in adversity! authorize my friends to include your name in their petitions!” Charney answered with a smile—“No woman weeps for me! no one sighs for my return: for I have no longer gold to purchase their affection. What is there to allure me anew into the world, where I was even less happy than at Fenestrella? But even were troops of friends awaiting me—had I still wealth, honour, and happiness in store—I would refuse the gift of freedom from that hand, whose power and usurpations I devoted myself to overthrow.” “You deny yourself even the enjoyment of hope?” said Girardi. “Never will I bestow the title of emperor on one who is either my equal or my inferior.” “Beware of sacrificing yourself to a sentiment, the offspring of vanity rather than of patriotism!” cried Girardi. “But peace! silence!” said he, more cautiously. “Some one approaches in earnest. _Addio_, away!” And the venerable Italian disappeared from the grated window. [Illustration] “Thanks!—a thousand thanks for the microscope!” was Charney’s last exclamation, as Girardi vanished from his view. And at that moment the door of the courtyard creaked on its hinges, and Ludovico made his appearance with the basket of provisions, forming the daily allowance of his prisoner. Observing the Count to be silent and absent-minded, the jailer accosted him only by rattling the plates as a signal that his dinner was ready. Then, having ascended to place all in order in the little chamber, amused himself, as he recrossed the court, with making a silent obeisance to the _Signor_ and _Signora_, as he was now in the habit of qualifying the Count de Charney and his plant. “The microscope is mine!” mused Charney, when he found himself alone. “But how have I merited such kind consideration on the part of a stranger? Ludovico, too, has become my friend. Under the rough exterior of the jailer, beats a kind and noble heart. There exist, then, after all, virtuous and warm-hearted men. But where! _In a prison!_”