gundy and a slice of a decently cooked capon?
Talk of sending people to a better world, my friend--it would give me
infinite satisfaction to skewer this fool of a Legate for having
interfered with our plans! A pretty job it is going to be, to get a man
out of a dungeon under the Lion Tower.'

'Which one is that?' asked Trombin, looking through the grated window at
the gloomy castle on the other side of the square.

'It is at the northeast corner at the head of the street they call
Giovecca. You cannot see it from here. When we have dined we will
stroll over and look at it, if you like, but you might as well try to
rescue a prisoner from the Bastille!'

Gambardella sniffed his wine discontentedly and then sipped it. He was a
grave man and business-like; he could drive as hard a bargain for a life
as any Bravo in Italy, and do his work as neatly and expeditiously, when
it was plainly laid out before him; but he had no imagination, and his
idea of rescuing Stradella was evidently to get him out of the castle by
some simple trick such as poor Cucurullo had tried in order to see his
master.

'This seems to be a good inn,' observed Trombin thoughtfully, after a
pause. 'I had as soon spend a ducat a day here as in a worse house. Now
this Burgundy is of the vintage of the year fifty-one.'

'Undoubtedly,' assented Gambardella, sipping again as he did about once
a minute. 'It has the "rose" bouquet like that of forty-six, but is a
little younger. To think that if we could only get that fellow out of
prison we could have him to dinner, and he would sing for us this
evening! It is maddening to think that he may lose his voice in a damp
hole through the idiocy of that thrice-confounded Legate!'

'It is indeed,' agreed Trombin. 'I wonder what has become of the lady.'

'I thought you were thinking of the girl,' said the other
discontentedly. 'It would complete the situation if you should find her
and fall in love with her yourself!'

'That is possible. It has pleased Providence to make me susceptible,
whereas you are designed by nature for a monastic life. Our friend's
description of his niece calls up an enchanting picture! The "Bella" of
the late Titian, but younger and slimmer! Heaven send such a sweet
creature to cheer my declining years! I do not wonder that the Maestro
lost his heart and carried her off. And at this very moment she must be
hiding somewhere in Ferrara, perhaps not a quarter of a mile from here!
In a conv