“Look hither, boy,” exclaimed the old man, whose eye betrayed a mixture of feverish excitement, caused by the recent change in his prison, and the growing imbecility of a mind that was gradually losing its powers for want of use; “dost thou see the rent in that bit of wood?  It opens with the heat, from time to time, and since I have been an inhabitant here, that fissure has doubled in length—­I sometimes fancy, that when it reaches the knot, the hearts of the senators will soften, and that my doors will open.  There is a satisfaction in watching its increase, as it lengthens, inch by inch, year after year!”

“Is this all?”

“Nay, I have other pleasures.  There was a spider the past year, that wove his web from yonder beam, and he was a companion, too, that I loved to see; wilt thou look, boy, if there is hope of his coming back?”

“I see him not,” whispered the Bravo.

“Well, there is always the hope of his return.  The flies will enter soon, and then he will be looking for his prey.  They may shut me up on a false charge, and keep me weary years from my wife and daughter, but they cannot rob me of all my happiness!”

The aged captive was mute and thoughtful.  A childish impatience glowed in his eye, and he gazed from the rent, the companion of so many solitary summers, to the face of his son, like one who began to distrust his enjoyments.

“Well, let them take it away,” he said, burying his head beneath the covering of his bed:  “I will not curse them!”

“Father!”

The prisoner made no reply.

“Father!”

“Jacopo!”

In his turn the Bravo was speechless.  He did not venture, even, to steal a glance towards the breathless and attentive Gelsomina, though his bosom heaved with longing to examine her guileless features.

“Dost thou hear me, son?” continued the prisoner, uncovering his head:  “dost thou really think they will have the heart to chase the spider from my cell?”

“They will leave thee this pleasure, father, for it touches neither their power nor their fame.  So long as the Senate can keep its foot on the neck of the people, and so long as it can keep the seemliness of a good name, it will not envy thee this.”

“Blessed Maria make me thankful!—­I had my fears, child; for it is not pleasant to lose any friend in a cell!”

Jacopo then proceeded to soothe the mind of the prisoner, and he gradually led his thoughts to other subjects.  He laid by the bed-side a few articles of food, that he was allowed to bring with him, and again holding out the hope of eventual liberation, he proposed to take his leave.

“I will try to believe thee, son,” said the old man, who had good reason to distrust assurances so often made.  “I will do all I can to believe it.  Thou wilt tell thy mother, that I never cease to think of her, and to pray for her; and thou wilt bless thy sister, in the name of her poor imprisoned parent.”