Andrea had formed a plan which was tolerably clever. The unfortunate youth was intrepid in attack, and redoubtable in defense. He had borne with the public prison, and with privations of all sorts; still, by degrees, nature, or rather custom, had prevailed, and he suffered from being naked, dirty, and hungry; time went slow for him. It was at this moment of ennui that the inspector's voice called him to the visiting-room. Andrea felt his heart leap with joy. It was too soon for a visit from the juge d'instruction, and too late for one from the director of the prison, or the doctor;—it must, then, be the visitor he hoped for. Behind the grating of the room into which Andrea had been led, he saw, while his eyes dilated with surprise, the dark and intelligent face of M. Bertuccio, who was also gazing with sad astonishment upon the iron bars, the bolted doors, and the shadow which moved behind the other grating.
"Ah!" said Andrea, deeply affected.
"Good-morning, Benedetto," said Bertuccio, with his deep, hollow voice.
"You—you!" said the young man, looking fearfully around him.
"Do you not recognize me, unhappy child?"
"Silence!—be silent!" said Andrea, who knew the delicate sense of hearing possessed by the walls; "for Heaven's sake, do not speak so loud!"
"You wish to speak with me alone, do you not?" said Bertuccio.
"Oh, yes!"
"That is well!"
And Bertuccio, feeling in his pocket, signed to a keeper whom he saw through the window of the wicket.
"Read!" he said.
"What is that?" asked Andrea.
"An order to conduct you to a room, and to leave you there to talk with me."
"Oh!" cried Andrea, leaping with joy. Then he mentally added, "Still my unknown protector! I am not forgotten. They wish for secrecy, since we are to converse in a private room. I understand Bertuccio has been sent by my protector."
The keeper spoke for a moment with a superior, then opened the iron gates, and conducted Andrea to a room on the first floor looking on the court. The room was whitewashed, as is the custom in prisons: but it looked quite brilliant to a prisoner, though a stove, a bed, a chair, and a table, formed the whole of its sumptuous furniture.
Bertuccio sat down upon the chair; Andrea threw himself upon the bed; the keeper retired.
"Now," said the steward, "what have you to tell me?"
