not miss the chance of refreshing it again at the magic
source of fortune.

They passed the foot of the main staircase, went on a few steps farther,
and then turned into a narrow passage. The glare of a lantern flashed in
Cucurullo's eyes.

'Here is the gentleman,' the sergeant said in a low voice. 'This is our
head gaoler,' he added, turning to Cucurullo. 'I have agreed that you
should pay three silver florins in advance for the visit.'

'Cash,' said a voice that was unnaturally hoarse, possibly from the
dampness of the underground labyrinth to which the man's business often
took him.

Cucurullo was wrapped in his wide cloak, under which he had slung on
himself the bottles and provisions he was bringing. He had prepared some
loose money in his breeches pocket, and immediately produced the three
coins. The turnkey was holding the lantern in such a position that it
was impossible to see his face, but a grimy hand shot out into the
yellow glare to take the money.

'Come,' said the hoarse voice; and as the speaker turned to lead the
way, Cucurullo heard the jingling of his keys.

The sergeant was already gone, and the hunchback followed his guide
along the passage, which descended by a distinctly perceptible grade. It
was clear from this that the prisons must be below the level of the
water in the moat, and already the moving light showed that the walls
were dripping with moisture. Presently the passage emerged into a sort
of crypt, in which huge masses of masonry supported low arches that in
turn carried the cross vaulting. The floor, if it was anything but
beaten earth, was slippery with a thin film of greasy mud.

At last the turnkey stopped before one of half-a-dozen doors, all
studded alike with rusty iron nails, and each having a lock, a bolt, and
a square aperture at the height of a man's head, strongly barred.
Cucurullo now saw the gaoler's ugly features for the first time.

The door opened, creaking loudly on its hinges; and as the turnkey held
up his lantern to see into the cell, Cucurullo, peering past him, caught
sight of his master's face. It was ghastly pale, his sunken eyes had
dark half-circles under them, and his unshaven chin and cheeks looked
grimy in the yellow light.

'Is it morning?' he asked, in a dull voice.

Cucurullo slipped past the gaoler and spoke to him, and instantly the
light flashed in his eyes and he smiled, for the first time since he had
been arrested in Ortensia's room. Cuc