“In that case,” said the Count, advancing towards him and seizing him by the hand, “be still my friend! Aid me while there is yet time! I have found means of evading all objections! The commandant can have no farther scruples—nay, he need not know a word of the matter. Procure me only a box of earth—we will gently raise the stones for a moment and transplant the flower——” “Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!” interrupted Ludovico, drawing back his hand. “The devil take the gilly-flower, for aught I care! She has done mischief enough already; beginning with yourself, who are about, I see, to have another fit of illness. Better make a pitcher of tisane of her before ’tis too late.” Charney replied by an eloquent glance of scorn and indignation. “If it were only yourself who had to suffer,” resumed Ludovico, “you would have yourself to thank, and there would be an end on’t. But there is a poor old man, whom you have deprived of his daughter; for Signor Girardi will see no more of his unhappy Teresa.” “Deprived of his daughter!” cried the Count, his eyes dilating with horror, “how?—in what manner?” “Ay! _how?_ in what manner?” pursued the jailer, setting down his basket of provisions, and taking the attitude of one about to administer a harsh reprimand. “People lay the whip to the horses, and pretend to wonder when the carriage rolls on. People let fly the stiletto, and pretend to wonder when blood flows from the wound. _Trondidio! O che frascheria!_ You choose to write to the Emperor—’twas your own affair: you wrote. Well and good! You infringed the discipline of the prison, and the commandant will find ’tis time to punish you. Well and good again. But, because you must needs have a trusty messenger to convey your unlucky letter, nothing less would serve you than to employ the _povera damigella_ on your fool’s errand!” “How!—you mean that Girardi’s daughter——” “Ay, ay! open your eyes, and look surprised,” interrupted Ludovico. “Did you suppose that your correspondence with the Emperor was to be conveyed by the telegraph? The telegraph, sir, has got other business on hand. All that I have got to tell you is, that the commandant has discovered the whole plot; perhaps through the guide (for the _Giovana_ could not hazard herself alone on such an expedition). And so she is forbid to re-enter the fortress. Her poor father will behold her face no more. And through whose fault, I should like to know?” Charney covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud. “Unhappy Girardi! have I, indeed, deprived thee of thine only consolation?” cried he, at last. Then, turning to Ludovico, he inquired whether the old man was apprised of what had befallen him. “He has known it since yesterday,” replied the jailer; “and no doubt loves you all the better. But make haste! your dinner is getting cold!”