On the next morning his attention was absorbed by something nearer at hand.  His window overlooked one belonging to the governor’s palace; in this window were many bird cages, and at eleven o’clock a maiden came to feed the birds.  Fabrice recognised her as Celia Conti, the governor’s daughter.  He succeeded in attracting her attention; she blushed and withdrew.  But next day she came again at the same hour.  On the third day, however, a heavy wooden shutter was clapped upon the window.  Nothing daunted, Fabrice proceeded patiently to cut a peep-hole in the shutter by aid of the mainspring of his watch.  When he had succeeded in removing a square piece of the wood, he looked with delight upon Clelia gazing at his window with eyes of profound pity, unconscious that she was observed.

Gradually he broke down the maiden’s reserve.  She discovered the secret of the peep-hole; she consented to communicate with him; finally the two conversed by a system of signals.  Fabrice even dared to tell Clelia that he loved her—­and truly he was in love, for the first time in his life.  The worst of it was that these declarations were apt to bring the conversation to an end; so Fabrice was sparing of them.

Clelia, meanwhile, was in sore perplexity.  Her father, General Fabio Conti the governor, was a political opponent of Count Mosca, and had ambitions of office.  These ambitions might be forwarded, he deemed, by the successful marriage of his daughter.  He did not desire that she should remain a lovely recluse, feeding birds on the top of the citadel.  Accordingly he had presented to her an ultimatum; either she must marry the Marquis Crescenzi, the wealthiest nobleman of Parma, who sought her hand, or she must retire to a convent.

The signalled conversations with Fabrice, therefore, could not last long.  And yet she had beyond doubt fallen deeply in love with Fabrice.  She knew he was her father’s prisoner, and belonged to the party hostile to her father; she was ashamed, as a daughter, of her love for him.  But she admired him, and pitied him; she was well aware that he was a victim of political intrigue, for why should a nobleman of Fabrice’s standing be thus punished for killing a mere actor?  The stolen interviews with the captive were as dear to her as to him; and so dear were they to him that, after months of imprisonment he declared that he had never been so happy in his life.

IV.—­The Escape

One night, as Fabrice looked through his peep-hole, he became aware of a light flashing from the town.  Obviously some attempt was being made at signalling.  He observed the flashes, counting them in relation to the order of the letters in the alphabet—­one for A, two for B, and so on.  He discovered that the message was from the Duchess, and was directed to himself.  He replied, on the same system, by passing his lantern in front of the peep-hole.  The answer from the distance was important; arrangements were being made for his escape.  But he did not want to escape.