Chapter Thirty Four.
Popetta.
The prisoner had started up, and was standing in the centre of his cell.
“Don’t be alarmed, Signor Inglese,” said his strange visitor, in a half whisper.
While speaking she had groped her way through the gloom, and was now so near that he felt her breath upon his cheek, while her hand was laid gently upon his shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked, starting at her touch, and slightly recoiling, though not through fear.
“Do not be alarmed,” she said soothingly: “I am not a man come to do you an injury. Only a woman. It is I, Popetta,—you remember me?”
“I do, signora; you are the wife of the chief Corvino.”
“Wife! Ah! if you’d said slave, it would be nearer the truth. No matter about that. It can signify nothing to you.”
A sigh, distinctly audible in the still darkness, accompanied the speech.