living thing; it
will be pleasant to look at that tree, and see the birds come home to
it,--yet that tree is wintry and blasted too! It will be pleasant to
hear it fret and chafe in the stormy nights; it will be a friend to me,
that old tree! let me have that room. Nay, look not at each other,--it
is not so high as this; but the window is barred,--I cannot escape!" And
Cesarini smiled.

"Certainly," said the surgeon, "if you prefer that room; but it has not
so fine a view."

"I hate the view of the world that has cast me off. When may I change?"

"This very evening."

"Thank you; it will be a great revolution in my life."

And Cesarini's eyes brightened, and he looked happy. De Montaigne,
thoroughly unmanned, tore himself away.

The promise was kept, and Cesarini was transferred that night to the
chamber he had selected.

As soon as it was deep night, the last visit of the keeper paid, and,
save now and then, by some sharp cry in the more distant quarter of the
house, all was still, Cesarini rose from his bed; a partial light came
from the stars that streamed through the frosty and keen air, and cast
a sickly gleam through the heavy bars of the casement. It was then
that Cesarini drew from under his pillow a long-cherished and
carefully-concealed treasure. Oh, with what rapture had he first
possessed himself of it! with what anxiety had it been watched and
guarded! how many cunning stratagems and profound inventions had
gone towards the baffling, the jealous search of the keeper and his
myrmidons! The abandoned and wandering mother never clasped her
child more fondly to her bosom, nor gazed upon his features with more
passionate visions for the future. And what had so enchanted the poor
prisoner, so deluded the poor maniac? A large nail! He had found
it accidentally in the garden; he had hoarded it for weeks,--it had
inspired him with the hope of liberty. Often, in the days far gone, he
had read of the wonders that had been effected, of the stones removed,
and the bars filed, by the self-same kind of implement. He remembered
that the most celebrated of those bold unfortunates who live a life
against the law, had said, "Choose my prison, and give me but a rusty
nail, and I laugh at your jailers and your walls!" He crept to the
window; he examined his relic by the dim starlight; he kissed it
passionately, and the tears stood in his eyes.

Ah, who shall determine the worth of things? No king that night so
prized