CHAPTER III.
Charney perused and re-perused a hundred times a sentence which he could not but believe to have been especially addressed to himself. His correspondent was evidently a woman; but it grieved him to reflect that the only one to whom he was indebted for real acts of service, the only woman who had ever devoted herself to his cause, was still so imperfectly known to him, that he was ignorant of the very sound of her voice, and by no means sure of recognising her person, should she present herself before him.
But by what means had Teresa contrived to evade the vigilance of his Argus in the transmission of her letter?
Poor girl! Afraid to compromise her father by the mere mention of his name! Unhappy father! to whom he is unable to afford consolation by the sight of the handwriting of his child!
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, hereisthe 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 hisamazement 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.
“To my daughter—doubtless to my daughter,” replied Girardi. “Every consolation of my life reaches me through the hands of my Teresa.”
“Do you know this handwriting?” inquired Charney, drawing from his casket the slip of paper he so dearly treasured.
“It is Teresa’s!” cried Girardi; “it is the writing of my child! She has not neglected us; nor have her promises been tardy in their accomplishment. But how did this letter reach your hands?”
The Count related all the circumstances, then carelessly put forth his hand to receive back the slip of paper; but, perceiving that the poor old man silently detained it, perusing it word by word, letter by letter, and raising it a thousand times, with trembling hands, to his lips, he saw that the pledge was lost to him for ever; and experienced a regret at the loss, which appeared almost unbearable.
After the first moments passed in conjectures, concerning Teresa and the spot where she was likely to have taken refuge, Girardi began to examine the lodgings of his new friend; and gravely proceeded to decipher the inscriptions on the wall. Two among them had been already modified; and the old man could readily discern, in this recantation, the influence exercised by Picciola over her votary. One of themaxims of Charney ran as follows: “Mankind maintain, upon the surface of the earth, the position they will one day hold below it—side by side, without a single bond of union. Physically considered, the world is a mob, where millions meet and jostle together: morally speaking, it is a solitary wilderness.”
To this withering sentence, the hand of Girardi added, “Unless to him who has a friend.” Then, turning to his young companion, the old man extended his arms towards him, and a mutual embrace sealed between them a compact of eternal friendship.
Next day, they dined together in thecameraof the Count—Charney seated upon the bed, and his venerable guest upon the chair—the sculptured table between them being covered with double rations, viz.: a fine trout from the lake of Avigliano, crayfish from the Cenise, a bottle of excellent Mondovi wine, and a piece of the celebrated Millesimo cheese, known over Italy under the name ofrubiola. The feast was a noble one for a prison; but Girardi’s purse was richly replenished, and the commandant willing to sanction every accommodation which Ludovico could afford to the two prisoners, within the letter of his instructions from headquarters.
Never had Charney more thoroughly enjoyed the pleasures of the table. The happiest spirit of social intercourse was already established between them. If exercise, and the waters of the Eurotas, imparted a zest to the black broth of the Lacedæmonians, how much more the presence and conversation of a friend to the flavour of the choice viands of Piedmont!
Their hearts expanded with the sense of enjoyment. Without scruple, without preamble, but as if in fulfilment of the sacred engagements conveyed in their promises of friendship,Charney began to relate the presumptuous studies and idle vanities of his youth; while Girardi, by way of encouragement to this candour, did not hesitate to avow the early errors of his own.