“The Marchesa del Dongo, your mother, has sent you a letter communicating this news, but as she has added improper remarks of her own to her announcement, the court of justice yesterday decided that you were only to be given extracts from her letter, and these extracts will now be read to you by Registrar Bona.”
When the passages had been read out by this functionary, the judge came over to Fabrizio, who was still lying on his bed, and pointed out the paragraphs in his mother’s letter, copies of which had just been read to him. In the letter Fabrizio caught sight of such phrases as “unjust imprisonment,” “cruel punishment for a crime that is no crime,” and understood the motive of the judge’s visit. Nevertheless, in his scorn for these unworthy magistrates, he said nothing at all to them, except these words: “I am ill, gentlemen; I am half dead with weakness, and you must excuse my not getting up.”
The judges departed, and Fabrizio shed many more tears. At last he questioned with himself: “Am I a hypocrite? I used to think I did not care for him.”
On that day, and those following it, Clelia was very sad. She called him several times over, but she had hardly courage to say anything to him. On the morning of the fifth day from that of their first interview, she told him she was coming to the marble chapel that night.
“I can only say a few words to you,” she said as she entered. She was trembling to such an extent that she had to lean on her waiting-woman. Having sent her back to the chapel door, she spoke again, in a voice that was barely intelligible. “You will give me your word,” she said, “your sacred word of honour, that you will obey the duchess, and try to escape on the day and in the manner in which she will command you. Otherwise I shall immediately take refuge in a convent, and I swear to you, here, that I will never open my lips to you again.”
Fabrizio stood dumb.
“Promise,” said Clelia, with tears in her eyes, and almost beside herself, “or else this talk will be our very last. You have turned my life into something horrible. You are here because of me, and any day of your life here may be your last.” Clelia was so weak at this moment that she had to support herself against a huge arm-chair which had been placed in the centre of the chapel in former days for the use of the imprisoned prince. She very nearly fainted away.
“What must I promise?” said Fabrizio in a despairing voice.
“You know what.”
“Then I swear to cast myself knowingly into hideous misery, and to condemn myself to live far from everything I love in this world.”