“The same.”
Here he made me a fine compliment, following it with the condolences usual on such occasions, upon hearing I had been committed to prison. He then inquired of what part of Italy I was a native. “Piedmont,” was the reply; “I am from Saluzzo.” Here I was treated to another compliment, on the character and genius of the Piedmontese, in particular, the celebrated men of Saluzzo, at the head of whom he ranked Bodoni. [7] All this was said in an easy refined tone, which showed the man of the world, and one who had received a good education.
“Now, may I be permitted,” said I, “to inquire who you are, sir?”
“I heard you singing one of my little songs,” was the reply.
“What! the two beautiful stanzas upon the wall are yours!”
“They are, sir.”
“You are, therefore,—”
“The unfortunate duke of Normandy.”
CHAPTER XIX.
The jailer at that moment passed under our windows, and ordered us to be silent.