It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. It was so hopeless to put it to them. "Prisoner at the bar," thus ran the sentence, "you shall be taken to the prison from whence you came, and put into a mean room, stopped from the light; and shall there be laid on the bare ground, without any litter, straw, or other covering, and without any garment. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him.
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