But Ludovico, assuming his most imposing attitude, folded his arms upon his breast, exclaiming, in his half-provincial, half-Piedmontese dialect, “Bagasse, bagasse! Ludovico is too old a soldier to submit to bribery. I know my orders. I know my duty. It is to the captain-commandant you must address yourself.”
“No,” cried Charney. “Rather would I tear up the stones with my hands, even were my bleeding nails sacrificed in the attempt!”
“Ay, ay! time will show!” replied Ludovico, resuming the pipe, which he was in the habit of holding half-extinguished under his thumb, during his colloquies with the Count; and after a puff or two, turning on his heel to depart.
“Good Ludovico! I have hitherto found you so kind—so charitable! Can you do nothing for my assistance?” persisted Charney.
“Trondidio!” answered the jailer, trying to conceal by an oath the emotion gaining upon his feelings, “can’t you leave me a moment’s peace—you and your accursed gilly-flower! As to the poverina, I forgive her—’tis no fault of Picciola! but as to you, whose obstinacy will certainly be the death of the poor thing——”
“What would you have me do, then?” exclaimed the Count.
“Petition the commandant, I tell you, petition the commandant!” cried Ludovico.
“Never!”
“There you are again; but if your pride is so tetchy, will you give me leave to speak to him?”