The Bravo rushed towards those fissures in the venerable but polluted pile he had already striven to open, and with frantic force he endeavored to widen them with his hands.  The material resisted, though blood flowed from the ends of his fingers in the desperate effort.

“The door, Gelsomina, open wide the door!” he cried, turning away from the spot, exhausted with his fruitless exertions.

“Nay, I do not suffer now, my child—­it is when thou hast left me, and when I am alone with my own thoughts, when I see thy weeping mother and neglected sister, that I most feel the want of air—­are we not in the fervid month of August, son?”

“Father, it is not yet June.”

“I shall then have more heat to bear!  God’s will be done, and blessed Santa Maria, his mother undefiled!—­give me strength to endure it.”

The eye of Jacopo gleamed with a wildness scarcely less frightful than the ghastly look of the old man, his chest heaved, his fingers were clenched, and his breathing was audible.

“No,” he said, in a low, but in so determined a voice, as to prove how fiercely his resolution was set, “thou shalt not await their torments:  arise, father, and go with me.  The doors are open, the ways of the palace are known to me in the darkest night, and the keys are at hand.  I will find means to conceal thee until dark, and we will quit the accursed Republic for ever.”

Hope gleamed in the eye of the old captive, as he listened to this frantic proposal, but distrust of the means immediately altered its expression.

“Thou forgettest those up above, son.”

“I think only of One truly above, father.”

“And this girl—­how canst thou hope to deceive her?”

“She will take thy place—­she is with us in heart, and will lend herself to a seeming violence.  I do not promise for thee idly, kindest Gelsomina?”

The frightened girl, who had never before witnessed so plain evidence of desperation in her companion, had sunk upon an article of furniture, speechless.  The look of the prisoner changed from one to the other, and he made an effort to rise, but debility caused him to fall backwards, and not till then did Jacopo perceive the impracticability, on many accounts, of what, in a moment of excitement, he had proposed.  A long silence followed.  The hard breathing of Jacopo gradually subsided, and the expression of his face changed to its customary settled and collected look.

“Father,” he said, “I must quit thee; our misery draws near a close.”

“Thou wilt come to me soon again?”

“If the saints permit—­thy blessing, father.”

The old man folded his hands above the head of Jacopo, and murmured a prayer.  When this pious duty was performed, both the Bravo and Gelsomina busied themselves a little time in contributing to the bodily comforts of the prisoner, and then they departed in company.

Jacopo appeared unwilling to quit the vicinity of the cell.  A melancholy presentiment seemed to possess his mind, that these stolen visits were soon to cease.  After a little delay, however, they descended to the apartments below, and as Jacopo desired to quit the palace without re-entering the prisons, Gelsomina prepared to let him out by the principal corridor.