"Where, pray?"
"Here, in the little prison."
"O Monsieur Benvenuto!" cried Colombe, darting to the shed with a gesture of mingled entreaty and reproach.
"Open, Hermann," said Cellini.
Hermann obeyed, and the provost appeared in the doorway, somewhat humiliated by his misadventure. Colombe threw herself into his arms.
"O father! father!" she cried; "are you not wounded? has no harm befallen you?" and as she spoke she looked at Ascanio.
"No," said the provost in his harsh voice, "no, thank Heaven! nothing has happened to me."
"And—and—" queried Colombe, in a faltering tone, "is it true that this youth—"
"I cannot deny that he arrived at just the right time."
"Yes," interposed Cellini, "yes, at the right time to receive the sword thrust which I intended for you, Monsieur le Prévôt. Yes, Mademoiselle Colombe, yes," he added, "you owe your father's life to this brave fellow, and if Monsieur le Prévôt doesn't proclaim it from the housetops, he is an ingrate as well as a liar."