“The decree of pardon.”
“For whom?” asked Cassio eagerly.
The Direttore began to lose patience.
“For whom but for you?” And he rejoiced in the deep emotion shown by the young man. So much the better; if the thing was so great as to seem impossible, so much the greater would be his gratitude. But then he thought sadly: Suppose his efforts should result in failure! If in the excess of his gratitude Cassio should give him false hopes!
“For me! for me!” stammered the poor youth. “For me! For how long?”
“For all the rest of your sentence. You are free—that is, not at once, but after a few formalities, in a week at most.”
Gradually Cassio pulled himself together. At first he had gazed at the Direttore without seeing him. Now he began to look at him. He observed his pale face was flushed, that the air of physical suffering had disappeared, that the small, green eyes were shining.
He, on the other hand, was trembling violently, his face was ashy, his hands cold, and a mist floated before his eyes.
“This man is fine, when he is rejoicing in the happiness of another. How I have misjudged him,” he thought. Then he asked himself: “But why did he do it?”
He was to know very soon.