These words were my death-warrant. I listened, shuddering, but with composure. The jailer then informed me that the prisoners were allowed to go into the court at that hour, and I could descend if I chose. I did so. I found myself in a crowd of rough men, collected out of Lombardy, as its scum, by the energy of the French government. At a distance from the others, leaning against a pillar, his eyes turned toward the rising sun, I saw a young man about twenty-five, apparently worn out with suffering. His form was emaciated, his face deadly pale; his eyes were sunken; his nose was aquiline; his forehead broad and high; and his tangled mass of black hair, with a long beard, gave him a wild aspect. But there was a touching interest in the sorrowful expression of his chiselled mouth and the lines of his blanched face. He noticed no one, and was quite unconscious of my long, earnest gaze.
Suddenly he went up to the guard who had charge of the cells, and spoke to him earnestly in Italian. I heard his voice in moving accents of entreaty.
"No, you cannot!" replied the old man, sternly. "And if you are not quiet of nights, I will even cut your last string for you."
"It is the musician!" I cried to myself, and I hastened to speak to him. But my steps were checked by hearing my own name pronounced behind me. The gendarme who had arrested me stood there, and sternly bade me follow him. I dared not hesitate. We went out of the door, and I saw a carriage in waiting. My conductor motioned me to get in, and followed me. After a short drive the carriage stopped before a handsome house. The French soldier alighted, held the door open for me, and led me up the steps and into the house. We stood in the hall some time; at length a door opened, and a voice cried, "Entrez!" I went in alone.
A gentleman in military dress stood in the room, and extended his hand to me. I recognized him at once. Four years before, in Berlin, General K. had been brought wounded to the house of my father. Though a political enemy, he had received tender care and nursing till restored to strength.
He grasped my hand cordially. "You have been imprudent, my young friend," he cried. "Had I not occupied this post, nothing could have saved your life. You are now at liberty."
"And Hermann—and Adolph," I questioned.
"They are free also."
I poured out thanks, which the general interrupted. "You must all be my guests to-day," he said. "To-morrow I leave Milan with my troops, and you must depart, or your adventure might still have serious consequences. I have had your passports made out—to Germany."