“Drink no water but this; satisfy your hunger with chocolate,” said this precious missive.  “To-morrow I will try to get some bread to you; I will mark the crust at top and bottom with little crosses made with ink.  It is a frightful thing to say, but you must know it:—­I believe others are implicated in Barbone’s design to poison you.  Could you not have understood that the subject you spoke of in your letter in pencil is displeasing to me?  I should not think of writing to you were it not for the great peril that is hanging over us.  I have seen the Duchess; she is well, as is the Count, but she is very thin.  Write no more on that subject which you know of:  would you wish to make me angry?”

It cost Clelia an effort to write the last sentence but one of the above note.  It was in everybody’s mouth in court circles that Mme. Sanseverina was manifesting a great deal of friendly interest in Count Baldi, that extremely handsome man and quondam friend of the Marquise Raversi.  The one thing certain was that he and the Marquise had separated, and he was alleged to have behaved most shamefully toward the lady who for six years had been to him a mother and given him his standing in society.

The next morning, long before the sun was up, Grillo entered Fabrice’s cell, laid down what seemed to be a pretty heavy package, and vanished without saying a word.  The package contained a good-sized loaf of bread, plentifully ornamented with, little crosses made with a pen.  Fabrice covered them with kisses.  Why?  Because he was in love.  Beside the loaf lay a rouleau incased in many thicknesses of paper; it contained six thousand francs in sequins.  Finally, Fabrice discovered a handsome brand-new prayer-book:  these words, in a writing he was beginning to be acquainted with, were written on the fly-leaf:—­

“Poison! Beware the water, the wine, everything; confine yourself to chocolate.  Give the untasted dinner to the dog; it will not do to show distrust; the enemy would have recourse to other methods.  For God’s sake, be cautious! no rashness!”

Fabrice made haste to remove the telltale writing which might have compromised Clelia, and to tear out a number of leaves from the prayer-book, with which he made several alphabets; each letter was neatly formed with powdered charcoal moistened with wine.  The alphabets were quite dry when at a quarter to twelve Clelia appeared at the window of the aviary.  “The main thing now is to persuade her to use them,” said Fabrice to himself.  But as it happened, fortunately, she had much to say to the young prisoner in regard to the plan to poison him (a dog belonging to one of the kitchen-maids had died after eating a dish cooked for Fabrice), so that Clelia not only made no objection to the use of the alphabets, but had herself prepared one in the highest style of art with ink.  Under this method, which did not work altogether smoothly at the beginning, the conversation lasted an hour and a half, which was as long as Clelia dared remain in the aviary.  Two or three times, when Fabrice trespassed on forbidden ground and alluded to matters that were taboo, she made no answer and walked away to feed her birds.