He must win this man's confidence, even at the risk of being called mad. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction.
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