There was evidently no intention of making my custody unduly severe. Eugenio brought in an armful of my favorite books and writing materials, also candles when it began to darken, but I was in no mood even for Tully and Pico Della Mirandola. Painful as had been my process of resolving to return to Germany, I did not in the least regret my determination. I knew that it would take a good four days before any order could come from Rome for my legal detention; in the meantime it remained to be proved whether a Conte di Palaestro could be incarcerated in his own palace by one of his own guests. “And as for you,” I muttered, “oh! Eminenza of Forli, and you, dark-eyed Madonna Marianna, I owe you both fair gratitude for this right noble proof of how unselfishly you love me!” Eugenio and his companions were discreetly partaking of their macaroni and sour wine in the passage outside the door, whilst I was pretending to bend over my Latin; but in reality was devoting my mind not to the _Cluentius_, but to the more pressing problem of escape, when I was stirred by a sound at the lattice. A human form was hanging across the darkening sky at the window. I started instinctively, but a warning “hist!” held me in my chair. “Do not stir, Eccellenza,” came in a clear whisper which I recognized as Andrea. His little peaked goatee and his bright beady eyes were thrust between the cross-bar. “Whence are you fallen?” I spoke softly, but in astonishment; “the clouds?” “Only the roof, Eccellenza. It is vastly easy to reach a trap-door to the tiling, to climb along the ridgepole, then swing downwards on a rope duly knotted around a pinnacle and with a good loop for my feet. ‘The Conte is stark mad,’ they told me; ‘he is raging and attempted the Cardinal’s life when his Eminence approached him.’ ‘_Si! Si!_’ said I, for it seldom pays to quarrel over an unlikely story; but as for myself, I have too many hairs in my chin to accept such a tale unsalted. ‘Either,’ said I to myself, ‘the Conte is indeed mad, in which case the mere sight of his sad state will be sorrowful but not deadly, or he is not mad--in which case he may need Andrea’s wits to help him out of the spider’s silk of Madonna Marianna.’” “You reason like a philosopher. Only tell me,--do you think I am dangerous or sane?” “The Eccellenza had a sharp tongue and a short temper the other night, but he seems marvellously himself just now. Only will he graciously answer a question?” “Servants should not ask questions, but I am in no place to command you. Say on.” “Eccellenza, is it true you have resolved to return to Germany and the Regenstein?” “Cat! You have been overhearing the Cardinal and the Signorina.” “It ill becomes me to contradict the Conte. But may I crave an answer nevertheless?” “Then, sirrah, I go back to Germany as soon as I escape from this strange prison.” “I am very sorry the Conte is so resolved. Is he quite sure no power can move him?”