He was examined
generally, whether he knew why he was arrested, and was conscious of
any guilt that might deserve the notice of the holy office? He was
examined as to his country, his life, his habits, his pursuits, his
actions, and opinions. The old man was frank and simple in his
replies; he was conscious of no guilt, capable of no art, practised in
no dissimulation. After receiving a general admonition to bethink
himself whether he had not committed any act deserving of punishment
and to prepare, by confession, to secure the well known mercy of the
tribunal, he was remanded to his cell.
He was now visited in his dungeon by crafty familiars of the
inquisition, who, under pretence of sympathy and kindness, came to
beguile the tediousness of his imprisonment with friendly
conversation. They casually introduced the subject of alchymy, on
which they touched with great caution and pretended indifference.
There was no need of such craftiness. The honest enthusiast had no
suspicion in his nature: the moment they touched upon his favourite
theme, he forgot his misfortunes and imprisonment, and broke forth
into rhapsodies about the divine science.
The conversation was artfully turned to the discussion of elementary
beings.
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