The Bravo bowed in acquiescence, glad of any means to escape speech.  At a sign from the old man he again bent his knee, and received the parting benediction.  After busying himself in arranging the scanty furniture of the cell, and in trying to open one or two small fissures, with a view to admit more light and air, he quitted the place.

Neither Gelsomina nor Jacopo spoke, as they returned by the intricate passages through which they had ascended to the attic, until they were again on the Bridge of Sighs.  It was seldom that human foot trod this gallery, and the former, with female quickness, selected it as a place suited to their further conference.

“Dost thou find him changed?” she asked, lingering on the arch.

“Much.”

“Thou speakest with a frightful meaning!”

“I have not taught my countenance to lie to thee, Gelsomina.”

“But there is hope.—–­ Thou told’st him there was hope, thyself.”

“Blessed Maria forgive the fraud!  I could not rob the little life he has of its only comfort.”

“Carlo!—­Carlo!—­Why art thou so calm?  I have never heard thee speak so calmly of thy father’s wrongs and imprisonment.”

“It is because his liberation is near.”

“But this moment he was without hope, and thou speakest now of liberation!”

“The liberation of death.  Even the anger of the Senate will respect the grave.”

“Dost thou think his end near?  I had not seen this change.”

“Thou art kind, good Gelsomina, and true to thy friends, and without suspicion of those crimes of which thou art so innocent:  but to one who has seen as much evil as I, a jealous thought comes at every new event.  The sufferings of my poor father are near their end, for nature is worn out; but were it not, I can foresee that means would be found to bring them to a close.”

“Thou can’st not suspect that any here would do him harm!”

“I suspect none that belong to thee.  Both thy father and thyself, Gelsomina, are placed here by the interposition of the saints, that the fiends should not have too much power on earth.”

“I do not understand thee, Carlo—­but thou art often so.—­Thy father used a word to-day that I could wish he had not, in speaking to thee.”

The eye of the Bravo threw a quick, uneasy, suspicious glance at his companion, and then averted its look with haste.

“He called thee Jacopo!” continued the girl.

“Men often have glimpses of their fate, by the kindness of their patrons.”

“Would’st thou say, Carlo, that thy father suspects the senate will employ the monster he named?”

“Why not?—­they have employed worse men.  If report says true, he is not unknown to them.”

“Can this be so!—­Thou art bitter against the Republic, because it has done injury to thy family; but thou canst not believe it has ever dealt with the hired stiletto.”