“The law does not admit of torture, though,” the doctor ventured to say; “and this is coming perilously near it.” “The law says nothing about opium, I think,” said the Governor snappishly. “It is for you to decide, of course, colonel; but I hope you will let the straps be taken off at any rate. They are a needless aggravation of his misery. There's no fear of his escaping now. He couldn't stand if you let him go free.” “My good sir, a doctor may make a mistake like other people, I suppose. I have got him safe strapped now, and he's going to stop so.” “At least, then, have the straps a little loosened. It is downright barbarity to keep them drawn so tight.” “They will stop exactly as they are; and I will thank you, sir, not to talk about barbarity to me. If I do a thing, I have a reason for it.” So the seventh night passed without any relief, and the soldier stationed on guard at the cell door crossed himself, shuddering, over and over again, as he listened all night long to heart-rending moans. The Gadfly's endurance was failing him at last. At six in the morning the sentinel, just before going off duty, unlocked the door softly and entered the cell. He knew that he was committing a serious breach of discipline, but could not bear to go away without offering the consolation of a friendly word. He found the Gadfly lying still, with closed eyes and parted lips. He stood silent for a moment; then stooped down and asked: “Can I do anything for you, sir? I have only a minute.” The Gadfly opened his eyes. “Let me alone!” he moaned. “Let me alone----” He was asleep almost before the soldier had slipped back to his post. Ten days afterwards the Governor called again at the palace, but found that the Cardinal had gone to visit a sick man at Pieve d'Ottavo, and was not expected home till the afternoon. That evening, just as he was sitting down to dinner, his servant came in to announce: “His Eminence would like to speak to you.” The Governor, with a hasty glance into the looking glass, to make sure that his uniform was in order, put on his most dignified air, and went into the reception room, where Montanelli was sitting, beating his hand gently on the arm of the chair and looking out of the window with an anxious line between his brows. “I heard that you called to-day,” he said, cutting short the Governor's polite speeches with a slightly imperious manner which he never adopted in speaking to the country folk. “It was probably on the business about which I have been wishing to speak to you.” “It was about Rivarez, Your Eminence.” “So I supposed. I have been thinking the matter over these last few days. But before we go into that, I should like to hear whether you have anything new to tell me.” The Governor pulled his moustaches with an embarrassed air.