Sometimes the torture became almost unendurable, and often the orange glow of sunrise would shine through the window before he had been able to close an eye; then, overpowered by exhaustion, he would fall into a heavy slumber just as it was time to get up!
Giovanna had now entirely ceased writing. Once only, towards the end of May, a letter had come, begging him not to send her any more money, as she now earned enough to live on, with care. After that there was nothing more.
And yet he maintained his tranquil faith in her loyalty. Even this last letter he took as a fresh proof of her affection for him.
Every day the King of Spades, waiting for his friend in the exercise hour, would betray a certain anxiety.
"Well," he would say uneasily, his sharp little demon-eyes snapping from out of the big, clean-shaven, yellow face. "Well, what news?" And when Costantino would seem to be surprised at the question, he too would look surprised, though he never would say at what.
"It is warm weather," he would observe.
"Yes, very warm."
"The spring is over."
"I should say that it was!"
"Have they finished harvesting where you come from?"