To see them is a spectacle of a rather curious kind, though repulsive. Coupled two and two--for the precaution is taken, and not unfrequently needed--to keep their leg-chains on; up in mud to the middle of their bodies, and above bespattered with it--such mud too! many of them with faces that, even when clean, are aught but nice to look at; their eyes now flashing fierce defiance, now bent down and sullen, they seem either at enmity or out of sorts with all mankind. Some among them, however, make light of it, bandy words with the passers-by, jest, laugh, sing, shout, and swear, which to a sensitive mind but makes the spectacle more sad. All this understood, it may well be conceived with what anxiety Florence Kearney listened to that snatch of dialogue between Santander and the gaol-governor outside the cell. He did not even then quite comprehend the nature of what was intended for them. But the sharer of his chain did, who soon after made it all known to him, he passing the knowledge on to Cris Rock. So when, on the next morning, the governor again presented himself at the door of their cell, saying: "Now, gentlemen, get ready to take a little exercise,"--they knew what sort of exercise was meant. He, however, believing them ignorant of it--for he was not aware they had overheard his out-door speech with Santander, added ironically: "It's a special favour I'm going to give you--at the request of Senor Colonel Santander, who, as I've seen, takes a friendly interest in some of you. For your health's sake, he has asked me to give you a turn upon the streets, which I trust you will enjoy and get benefit by." Don Pedro was a born joker, and felt conceit in his powers as a satirist. In the present instance his irony was shaftless, being understood. The dwarf was the only one who deigned rejoinder. "Ha, ha, ha!" he yelled in his wild unearthly way. "Turn _upon_ the streets! That's fine for you, Don Pedro. A turn _under_ the streets-- that's what you mean, isn't it?" He had been long enough in the gaol-governor's charge to know the latter's name, and was accustomed to address him thus familiarly. The deformed creature was fearless from his very deformity, which in a way gave him protection. "_Vayate Zorillo_," returned the Governor, slightly put out and evidently a little nettled, "you're too fond of jesting--or trying. I'll take that out of you, and I mean to give you a lesson in good manners this very day." Then fixing his eyes upon Rivas, he added: "Senor Don Ruperto, I should be only too happy to let you off from the little excursion your prison companions are about to make and save you the fatigue. But my orders are rigorous. They come from the highest quarter, and I dare not disobey them." This was all pure irony, intended but to torment him; at least so the robber seemed to understand it. For, instead of accepting it in a friendly sense, he turned savagely on his tormentor, hissing out: