s had approached the orange-trees.
But his delight was sufficient for one evening. He sat down and wrote a
long letter to Clelia; scarcely was it ended when he fastened it to the
cord and let it down. For more than three hours he waited in vain for
some one to come and take it; two or three times he drew it up and made
alterations in it. "If Clelia does not get my letter to-night," he said
to himself, "while those ideas of poison are troubling her brain, it is
more than likely that to-morrow she will refuse to receive it."

The fact was that Clelia had been obliged to drive to the city with her
father. Fabrice knew how matters stood when he heard the General's
carriage enter the court about half-past twelve; he knew it was the
General's carriage by the horses' step. What was his delight when,
shortly after hearing the jingle of the General's spurs as he crossed
the esplanade, and the rattle of muskets as the sentries presented arms,
he felt a gentle tug at the cord, the end of which he had kept wrapped
around his wrist! Something heavy was made fast to the cord; two little
jerks notified him to haul up. He had some difficulty in landing the
object over a cornice that projected under his window.

The article that he had secured at expense of so much trouble proved to
be a carafe of water wrapped in a shawl. The poor young man, who had
been living for so long a time in such complete solitude, covered the
shawl with rapturous kisses. But words are inadequate to express his
emotion when, after so many days of vain waiting, he discovered a scrap
of paper pinned to the shawl.

"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