th, when the door of my prison opened, and in came a man,
who for a long time looked at me silently. "Is it thus I find you again,
Zaleukos?" he said. I had not recognized him by the dim light of my
lamp, but the sound of his voice roused in me old remembrances. It was
Valetti, one of those few friends whose acquaintance I made in the city
of Paris when I was studying there. He said that he had come to Florence
accidentally, where his father, who was a distinguished man, lived. He
had heard about my affair, and had come to see me once more, and to hear
from my own lips how I could have committed such a crime. I related to
him the whole affair. He seemed much surprised at it, and adjured me, as
my only friend, to tell him all, in order not to leave the world with a
lie behind me. I confirmed my assertions with an oath that I had spoken
the truth, and that I was not guilty of anything, except that the
glitter of the gold had dazzled me, and that I had not perceived the
improbability of the story of the stranger. "Did you not know Bianca?"
he asked me. I assured him that I had never seen her. Valetti now
related to me that a profound mystery rested on the affair, that the
Governor had very much accelerated my condemnation, and now a report was
spread that I had known Bianca for a long time, and had murdered her out
of revenge for her marriage with some one else. I told him that all this
coincided exactly with the "red-cloak," but that I was unable to prove
his participation in the affair. Valetti embraced me weeping, and
promised me to do all, at least to save my life.

I had little hope, though I knew that Valetti was a clever man, well
versed in the law, and that he would do all in his power to save my
life. For two long days I was in uncertainty; at last Valetti appeared.
"I bring consolation, though painful. You will live and be free with the
loss of one hand." Affected, I thanked my friend for saving my life.
He told me that the Governor had been inexorable in having the affair
investigated a second time, but that he at last, in order not to appear
unjust, had agreed, that if a similar case could be found in the law
books of the history of Florence, my punishment should be the same as
the one recorded in these books. He and his father had searched in the
old books day and night, and at last found a case quite similar to
mine. The sentence was: That his left hand be cut off, his property
confiscated, and he himself bani