his method of dispensing justice,
however, for it was a simple one and had hitherto done him credit. It
consisted in never admitting that he could be wrong, and in punishing
the prisoner whom he had picked out as guilty from the first, regardless
of anything that might turn up afterwards. One swallow, he now observed
with truth, did not make a spring, nor could one mistake prove a system
wrong. The exception proved the rule, he argued to himself, and as he
considered that all his mistakes were exceptions, his rule must be
practically infallible.

Meanwhile Trombin waited under the great archway while the gaoler
fetched Stradella and his man, and two porters soon brought their
valises and other belongings. The secretary disappeared for a short time
and returned with the leathern purse containing the confiscated money,
which, as he informed Trombin, must be counted out to the full
satisfaction of the Maestro. The Bravo continued to smile blandly, and
while waiting he walked up and down the covered way to the admiration of
the halberdiers of the watch. They recognised in him the fighting man,
the compact and well-proportioned frame, the easy stride, the assured
bearing, and the quick eye; and, moreover, they had already understood
what was happening, though they were not Sergeant Hector's men, who
would only relieve them at nightfall. But all the soldiers hated the
Legate alike, and rejoiced that for once he should be driven to
acknowledge a mistake and give up a prisoner.

Stradella and Cucurullo came up from the dungeon in a miserable state,
unwashed, unshaven, their clothes stained with the slimy ooze of their
prison; their hair was damp and matted, their eyes blinked painfully in
the light, and their grimy cheeks were of a ghastly colour. But they
were not otherwise much the worse for having spent several days and
nights underground, for the supply of provisions brought by the
hunchback had sufficed to keep up their strength, and Stradella's
constitution, in spite of his pale and intellectual face, overflowed
with vitality, like that of all really great singers. As for Cucurullo,
he had been inured to hardship and misery in his childhood.

They came forward together, and before Trombin could meet them the
turnkey had disappeared again. Trombin took off his hat and bowed to
Stradella, and the secretary thought it wise to make an obsequious
obeisance.

'Signor Maestro,' the latter said, 'his worship the Legate charg