Often, indeed, had Charney’s nights been rendered sleepless by the idea of the solitary old man, to whom he had been the innocent cause of such irreparable injury, when one night, as he was lying awake, absorbed in these afflicting recollections, his ear was struck by an unaccustomed sound in the chamber above his own, which had remained uninhabited during the whole period of his confinement at Fenestrella.
Next morning Ludovico entered his apartment, his countenance full of meaning, which he vainly attempted to compose to its usual vacuity of expression.
“What is the matter?” demanded the Count; “has anything unusual occurred in the citadel?”
“Nothing particular, Signor Conte; nothing of any consequence, only we have had a sudden influx of prisoners; and the chambers of the northern and southern turrets being full, the commandant is under the necessity of placing another state prisoner in this part of the fortress, who must share with you the use of the courtyard. But this need be no hindrance to your pursuits. We receive at Fenestrella only gentlemen of high consideration—that is, I mean we have no thieves or robbers among our prisoners. But stay, here is the new-comer, waiting to pay you his visit of inauguration.”
Charney half rose at this announcement, scarcely knowing whether to grieve or rejoice at the intelligence; but, on turning to do the honours to his unexpected guest, what was his amazement to behold the door open for the admission of—Girardi!
After gazing upon each other for a moment in silence, as if still doubtful of the reality of their good fortune, the hands of the two prisoners were suddenly pressed together in mutual gratulations.
“Well and good,” cried Ludovico, with a cordial smile; “no need, I see, of a master of the ceremonies between you; the acquaintance has been quickly made;” and away he went, leaving them to the enjoyment of each other’s society.
“To whom are we indebted, I wonder, for this happy meeting?” was Charney’s first exclamation.