“Not a friend!” exclaimed the old man, with a look of profound pity. “Have you, then, exhibited mistrust of your fellow-creatures?—for friendship is unpropitious only to those who withhold their faith. I, Heaven be thanked, have friends in abundance, good and faithful friends, who might, perhaps, be more successful in your behalf than they have been in mine.”
“I have nothing to ask of General Bonaparte,” said Charney, in a harsh tone, characteristic of all his former animosities.
“Hush! speak lower! I hear footsteps,” said Girardi.
There was an interval of silence; after which the Italian resumed, in a tone which softened, by almost paternal tenderness, the rebuke which it conveyed.
“Your feelings are still imbittered, my dear companion in adversity. Surely your study of the works of Nature ought to have subdued a hatred which is opposed to all the commandments of God, and all the chances of human happiness! Has not the fragrance of your flower poured balm into your wounds? The Bonaparte, of whom you speak so vindictively, surely I have more cause to hate him than yourself! My only son perished under his banner of usurpation.”
“True! And did you not seek to avenge his death?”
“The false rumour, then, has reached you,” said the old man, raising his head with dignity towards heaven, as if in appeal to the testimony of the Almighty. “I revenge myself by a deed of blood! No, sir! no! My utmost crime consisted in the despair which prompted me, when all Turin saluted the victor with acclamations, to oppose to them the cries of my parental anguish. I was arrested on the spot; a knife was found on my person, and I was branded with the name of assassin; I, an agonized father, who had just learned the loss of an only son.”
“Infamous injustice! infamous tyranny!” cried the Count, with indignation.
“Nay,” remonstrated Girardi, “I thank Heaven I am able to perceive that Bonaparte may have been deceived by appearances. His character is neither wicked nor cruel; or what was there to prevent him from putting us both to death? By restoring me to liberty, he would only atone an error; nevertheless, I should bless him as a benefactor. I find captivity, however, by no means insupportable. Full of trust in the mercy of Providence, I resign myself to the event; but the sight of my imprisonment afflicts my daughter; and for her sake I desire my liberation. I would fain shorten her exile from the world, her alienation from the pleasures of her age. Say!—have you no human being who sorrows over your misfortunes?—no woman who weeps for you in secret, to whom you would sacrifice even your pride, as an oppressed and injured man? Come, come, my dear brother in adversity! authorize my friends to include your name in their petitions!”