strachino cheese, and good wine by it. Look at the birds, my
pretty!'

'Poor birds!' said the child.

The fair little face, touched with divine compassion, as it peeped
shrinkingly through the grate, was like an angel's in the prison.
John Baptist rose and moved towards it, as if it had a good
attraction for him. The other bird remained as before, except for
an impatient glance at the basket.

'Stay!' said the jailer, putting his little daughter on the outer
ledge of the grate, 'she shall feed the birds. This big loaf is
for Signor John Baptist. We must break it to get it through into
the cage. So, there's a tame bird to kiss the little hand! This
sausage in a vine leaf is for Monsieur Rigaud. Again--this veal in
savoury jelly is for Monsieur Rigaud. Again--these three white
little loaves are for Monsieur Rigaud. Again, this cheese--again,
this wine--again, this tobacco--all for Monsieur Rigaud. Lucky
bird!'

The child put all these things between the bars into the soft,
Smooth, well-shaped hand, with evident dread--more than once
drawing back her own and looking at the man with her fair brow
roughened into an expression half of fright and half of anger.
Whereas she had put the lump of coarse bread into the swart,
scaled, knotted hands of John Baptist (who had scarcely as much
nail on his eight fingers and two thumbs as would have made out one
for Monsieur Rigaud), with ready confidence; and, when he kissed
her hand, had herself passed it caressingly over his face.