“‘The castle is on fire.’
“You will answer:
“‘Are my books burned?’”
There were five or six more pages in this letter, all crammed with details. They were written in microscopic characters, on very thin paper.
“All that is very fine, and very well arranged,” said Fabrizio to himself, “and I owe eternal gratitude both to the duchess and to the count. Perhaps they will think I am afraid, but I will not escape. Did any man ever escape from a place where he is perfectly happy in order to cast himself into the most hideous banishment, where he will find nothing, not even air that he can breathe? What should I do at the end of the first month, if I were at Florence? I should put on a disguise and come and hover round the gate of this fortress to try to catch a glimpse of her.”
The next morning Fabrizio had a fright. He was standing at his window, toward eleven o’clock, looking out at the magnificent view and waiting for the happy moment when Clelia would appear, when Grillo, quite out of breath, bustled into his room.
“Quick, quick, monsignore! Throw yourself on your bed—pretend to be ill. Three judges are coming up; they are going to question you. Think well before you speak; they have come here to entangle you.” As Grillo spoke the words he was hastily shutting up the little trap-door in the screen. He thrust Fabrizio on to his bed, and threw two or three cloaks over him.
“Say you are in great pain, and speak as little as you can. Above all things, make them repeat their questions, so as to give yourself time to think.”
The three judges entered the room. “Three escaped convicts,” said Fabrizio to himself, as he noted their vile countenances, “not three judges at all.” They wore long black gowns; they bowed to him solemnly, and sat themselves down without a word, in the only three chairs the apartment contained.
“Signor Fabrizio del Dongo,” quoth the senior of the three. “We are distressed by the sadness of the duty we are here to fulfil. We have come to inform you of the death of His Excellency, the Marchese del Dongo, your father, late Grand Steward, Major-Domo of the Lombardo-Venetian Kingdom, Knight Grand Cross of the Orders of ⸺, and so forth.” Fabrizio burst into tears. The judge proceeded: