“I cannot think that the all-powerful hand of the viceroy could have directed the assassin’s sword; it would be a dishonour to him, and if it were so, he would not be treating me so kindly now. If it were his doing, he must have heard directly that the blow had failed, and in that case I do not think he would have arrested me this morning. “Shall I write to Nina? Will writing be allowed here?” As I was puzzling my brains with these reflections, stretched on my bed (for I had no chair), I heard some disturbance, and on opening my window I saw, to my great astonishment, Passano being brought into the prison by a corporal and two soldiers. As he was going in, the rascal looked up and saw me, and began to laugh. “Alas!” I said to myself, “here is fresh food for conjecture. The fellow told Nina’s sister that I should be sorry for what I had done. He must have directed some fearful calumny against me, and they are imprisoning him so as to be sure of his evidence.” On reflection, I was well pleased at the turn affairs had taken. An excellent dinner was set before me, but I had no chair or table. The deficiency was remedied by the soldier who was in charge of me for the consideration of a duro. Prisoners were not allowed to have pen and ink without special permission; but paper and pencils were not included under this regulation, so my guard got them for me, together with candles and candlesticks, and I proceeded to kill time by making geometrical calculations. I made the obliging soldier sup with me, and he promised to commend me to one of his comrades who would serve me well. The guard was relieved at eleven. On the fourth day the officer of the guard came to me with a distressed look, and told me that he had the disagreeable duty of giving me some very bad news. “What is that, sir?” “I have received orders to transfer you to the bottom of the tower.” “To transfer me?” “Yes.” “Then they must have discovered in me a criminal of the deepest dye! Let us go at once.” I found myself in a kind of round cellar, paved with large flagstones, and lighted by five or six narrow slits in the walls. The officer told me I must order what food required to be brought once a day, as no one was allowed to come into the ‘calabozo’, or dungeon, by night. “How about lights?” “You may lave one lamp always burning, and that will be enough, as books are not allowed. When your dinner is brought, the officer on duty will open the pies and the poultry to see that they do not contain any documents; for here no letters are allowed to come in or go out.” “Have these orders been given for my especial benefit?” “No, sir; it is the ordinary rule. You will be able to converse with the sentinel.” “The door will be open, then?” “Not at all.” “How about the cleanliness of my cell?” “A soldier will accompany the officer in charge of your dinner, and he will attend to your wants for a trifle.” “May I amuse myself by making architectural plans with the pencil?”