wretch, they pitied him. His name would soon carry horror with it, and
Nisida, poor orphan, would be nothing to anyone but the sister of a man
who had been condemned to death. Even Bastiano turned away his face and
wept. Thus, when every respite was over, when poor Solomon's every
attempt had failed, people in the town who saw him smile strangely, as
though under the obsession of some fixed idea, said to one another that
the old man had lost his reason.

Gabriel saw his last day dawn, serenely and calmly. His sleep had been
deep; he awoke full of unknown joy; a cheerful ray of sunlight, falling
through the loophole, wavered over the fine golden straw in his cell; an
autumn breeze playing around him, brought an agreeable coolness to his
brow, and stirred in his long hair. The gaoler, who while he had had him
in his charge had always behaved humanely, struck by his happy looks,
hesitated to announce the priest's visit, in fear of calling the poor
prisoner from his dream. Gabriel received the news with pleasure; he
conversed for two hours with the good priest, and shed sweet tears on
receiving the last absolution. The priest left the prison with tears in
his eyes, declaring aloud that he had never in his life met with a more
beautiful, pure, resigned, and courageous spirit.

The fisherman was still under the influence of this consoling emotion
when his sister entered. Since the day when she had been carried,
fainting, from the room where her brother had just been arrested, the
poor girl, sheltered under the roof of an aunt, and accusing herself of
all the evil that had befallen, had done nothing but weep at the feet of
her holy protectress. Bowed by grief like a young lily before the storm,
she would spend whole hours, pale, motionless, detached from earthly
things, her tears flowing silently upon her beautiful clasped hands.
When the moment came to go and embrace her brother for the last time,