As these thoughts glanced through the mind of Charney, he beheld, at the little grated window, the shadow of the venerable Girardi. “Alas!” murmured the Count, “I have deprived him of all he had to live for; and he comes to triumph over my affliction—to curse me—to deride me! And he is right; for what are sorrows such as mine compared to those I have heaped upon his revered head?”
Charney perceived the old man clasping the iron window-bars in his trembling hands, but dared not meet his eyes and hazard an appeal to the forgiveness of the only human being of whose esteem he was ambitious. The Count dreaded to find that venerable countenance distorted by the expression of reproach or contempt; and when at length their glances met, he was touched to the soul by the look of tender compassion cast upon him by the unhappy father—forgetful of his own sorrows in beholding those of his companion in misfortune. The only tears that had ever fallen from the eyes of the Count de Charney started at that trying moment! But, consolatory as they were, he dried them hurriedly as they fell, in the dread of exposing his weakness to the contempt and misapprehension of the men by whom he was surrounded.
Among the spectators of this singular scene, the two sbirri alone remained indifferent to what was passing—staring vacantly at the prisoner, the old man, the commandant, and the jailer; wondering what reference their emotions might bear to the supposed conspiracy, and nothing doubting that the mysterious plant, about to be dislodged, would prove to have been a cover to some momentous hiding-place.
Meanwhile, the fatal operations proceeded. Under the orders of the commandant, Ludovico was attempting to take up the rustic bench, which at first seemed to resist his feeble efforts.
“A mallet—take a mallet!” cried Captain Morand.
Ludovico obeyed; but the mallet fell from his hands.
“Death and the devil! how much longer am I to be kept waiting?” now vociferated the captain; and the jailer immediately let fall a blow, under which the bench gave way in a moment. Mechanically, Ludovico bent down towards his god-daughter, which was now alone and undefended in the court; while the Count stood ghastly and overpowered, big drops of agony rising upon his brow.
“Why destroy it, sir? why destroy it? You must perceive that the plant is about to die!” he faltered, descending once more to the abject position of a suppliant. But the captain replied only by a glance of ironical compassion. It was now his turn to remain silent!