his dog and gun, he was not obliged to give up his carriage.
Italian physicians, instead of waiting for calls at their houses, have a kind of office in common at their apothecaries', where, sometimes in an inner room, sometimes in the front shop, yon will be sure, at stated honrs, of meeting several of them together, talking as amicably as though they had never quarrelled over a patient. One evening, as Doctor M——— was at his seven-o'clock post, a boy came in in great haste to tell him that he was wanted immediately. It was not an uncommon summons, and he followed him into the street without further inquiry. The apothecary's shop was on a comer, with a wide street in front and a narrow street at the side. The boy turned into the narrow street, saying,—
"Here is the carriage, Signar Dottore."
"A carriage?" thought he; "so much the better! it must be for somebody of importance."
The door was open, he got in, the horses started at a trot; all had passed so suddenly that he had asked no questions. Then, too, the coming suddenly from a lighted room into a dark street had blinded him for a moment, and it was not until the carriage passed close to a street-lamp that he became aware of a person on the front-seat, and, looking closely at him, distinguished the well-known features of the dreaded Nardoni.
The truth flashed upon him. They were carrying him to prison.
But to what prison? For the notorious Caposbirro was used to all work, and seemed to love it all. M———'s resolution was taken instantly. Whatever else they might do, they should not break his spirit, and until gagged or stiffened in death, his tongue should do its office, as it had always done, freely and boldly.
"Where are yon carrying me?"
"To the Holy Office."
"And you have taken this rascally way of arresting, to repay me, I suppose, for saving your son's life for you, last week." For M——— had been called only the week before to attend Nardoni's child, and cured him.
"I am only obeying my orders. Doctor."
"Obey them, then."
It was a long ride, and M——— employed the time in marking out for himself a plan of action." He knew Rome too well not to know that he had long been watched by spies, and that their record was probably a long, and certainly a black one. Denial could not help him; for the Holy Office has no lack of witnesses, and every word that the informers had put in his mouth would be backed by secret testimony beyond his control. He resolved, therefore, to put on a bold face, deny nothing, and trust to his ready wit for extricating himself from the toils that had been so stealthily woven around him.
At last the carriage stopped at the gate of the Inquisition, dark without, and within, two or three sickly lamps vainly contending with the shadows of the vaulted corridors. Silent, too: the door opened silently, the guards moved noiselessly: not a sound, not a whisper, as Nardoni consigned him to the door-keeper and they began to ascend the stairs together. M——— felt the chill stealing towards his heart. "Now or never!" said he to himself,—and began to hum a well-known air, as if he were gmng up his own stairs, at the end of a good day's work.
"You seem to be in good spirits. Doctor," said the Register, as he entered his name upon the prison-roll.
"I always am. God gave them to me, and nobody can take them away."
The official looked doubtful, but did not think it worth while to gainsay so orthodox a sentiment, especially as he very well knew that he had time and appliances on his side io test it by. So he contented himself for the moment by finishing his entry and consigning the bold singing-bird to his cage.
It was not an uncomfbrtabfe one, though small; for it was not particularly damp, and the trundle-bed looked sufficiently clean. But it was not a pleasant place for a husband to lie down in and think of
