The peace of his solitude was less satisfactory
to him than at first, and he began to suspect that before very
long he might even wish to return to the world. Possibly Corona
might come to see him. The cardinal would perhaps think it best to
tell her what had happened. How would he tell it? Would he let her
know all? The light faded from the room, and the attendant brought
his evening meal and set two candles upon the table.
Hitherto it could not be said that he had suffered. On the
contrary, his character had regained its tone after weeks of
depression. Another day was ended, and he went to rest, but he
slept less soundly than before, and on the following morning he
awoke early. The monotony of the existence struck him all at once
in its reality. The fourth day would be like the third, and, for
all he knew, hundreds to come would be like the fourth if it
pleased his Eminence to keep him a prisoner. Corona would
certainly never suspect that he was shut up in the Holy Office,
and if she did, she might not be able to come to him. Even if she
came, what could he say to her? That he had committed a piece of
outrageous folly because he was annoyed at her disbelief in him or
at her coldness. He had probably made himself ridiculous for the
first time in his life.
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