Saying this, he knelt by Julio, and threw open his doublet to give him air: 

“Thanks, thanks, O my God! here is bread!” exclaimed Geronimo, almost wild with joy, and snatching with feverish haste the small loaf which Julio had concealed, and which he had entirely forgotten since his fatal stupor.

The young man, absorbed in satisfying his devouring hunger, no longer heeded Julio’s complaints, but having soon appeased its cravings, he took his hands, saying: 

“I bless you, Julio, and may the omnipotent God reward you in heaven.  Tell me what I can do to save you.  Set me at liberty, and I will fly for physician and priest.  The keys—­quick, the keys!”

“Alas!” said Julio, in a hopeless voice, “my cruel murderer took from me the keys of the door.  We are shut up in the building.  But I cannot die thus, consumed by poison, without confession, without hope of pardon for my soul!  Go up-stairs, signor, call aloud, break open the door, wrest the iron bars from the windows.  Collect all your strength, take pity on me and help me!”

Geronimo seized the keys, and, lighted by the lamp, he hastily traversed the subterranean passage, and mounted the staircase.

The gray dawn was appearing in the east, but to the eyes of the young man so long accustomed to utter darkness it was almost as bright as noonday.

Convinced that Julio’s condition demanded immediate aid, Geronimo hastily tried all the keys in the exterior door, pulled all the bolts, endeavored to wrench the door from the hinges, and worked with so much energy that at last he fell from weakness.

Taking a short rest, he arose, threw up the windows, shook the iron bars, ran up-stairs and called aloud for help.  But all his efforts were useless—­the pavilion was too far removed from any habitation to permit him to indulge the hope that his voice, weak as it was, could be heard.

In running through the building—­almost maddened by despair—­to seek an outlet, he entered the kitchen, where he perceived a vessel full of water.  The sight filled him with joy.  Perhaps water, taken in large quantities, might deaden the effects of the poison and save Julio’s life.  At any rate, he had no other remedy, and as it was his only hope, he grasped at it as if it were an inspiration from heaven.

Filling a pitcher, he ran with it to the cellar, and radiant with joy, approached Julio, who had barely strength to ask in a feeble voice: 

“Is the priest coming?  Will the doctor be here?  Ah! it is too late!”

“Drink,” said Geronimo, holding the pitcher to his lips; “the water will cool the inflammation and refresh you.”

Julio took the water.

“Thank you, signor; it is useless, the water does me no good.”

“Take more, I beg you, Julio,—­as much as you can.”

Julio obeyed mechanically and nearly emptied the pitcher.  His respiration became very labored, and the sweat ran in big drops from his brow.