Silvio has not come to Turin to see US!" seemed to hang like a
weight upon my soul. I regretted a thousand instances in which I
might have shown myself more grateful and agreeable to them; I did
not even tell them how much I loved; all that I owed to them. I was
never to see them more, and yet I turned my eyes with so much like
indifference from their dear and venerable features! Why, why was I
so chary of giving expression to what I felt (would they could have
read it in my looks), to all my gratitude and love? In utter
solitude, thoughts like these pierced me to the soul.

I rose, shut the window, and sat some hours, in the idea that it
would be in vain to seek repose. At length I threw myself on my
pallet, and excessive weariness brought me sleep.



CHAPTER III.



To awake the first night in a prison is a horrible thing. Is it
possible, I murmured, trying to collect my thoughts, is it possible
I am here? Is not all that passed a dream? Did they really seize
me yesterday? Was it I whom they examined from morning till night,
who am doomed to the same process day after day, and who wept so
bitterly last night when I thought of my dear parents? Slumber, the
unbroken silence, and rest had, in restoring my mental powers, added
incalculably to the capability of reflecting, and, consequently, of
grief. There was nothing to distract my attention; my fancy grew
busy with absent forms, and pictured, to my eye the pain and terror