m, a kind of
theatrical effect used to tone down her natural hypocrisy. My own
thoughts began to harass and weary me. I took up a volume of
philosophic essays and began to read, in an endeavor to distract my
mind from dwelling on the one perpetual theme. The day wore on slowly
enough; and I was glad when the evening closed in, and when Vincenzo,
remarking that the night was chilly, kindled a pleasant wood-fire in my
room, and lighted the lamps. A little while before my dinner was served
he handed me a letter stating that it had just been brought by the
Countess Romani's coachman. It bore my own seal and motto. I opened it;
it was dated, "La Santissima Annunziata," and ran as follows:

"Beloved! I arrived here safely; the nuns are delighted to see me, and
you will be made heartily welcome when you come. I think of you
constantly--how happy I felt this morning! You seemed to love me so
much; why are you not always so fond of your faithful

"NINA?"

I crumpled this note fiercely in my hand and flung it into the leaping
flames of the newly lighted fire. There was a faint perfume about it
that sickened me--a subtle odor like that of a civet cat when it moves
stealthily after its prey through a tangle of tropical herbage. I
always detested scented note-paper--I am not the only man who does so.
One is led to fancy that the fingers of the woman who writes upon it
must have some poisonous or offensive taint about them, which she
endeavors to cover by the aid of a chemical concoction. I would not
permit myself to think of this so "faithful Nina," as she styled
herself. I resumed my reading, and continued it even at dinner, during
which meal Vincenzo waited upon me with his usual silent gravity and
decorum, though I could feel that he watched me with a certain
solicitude. I suppose I looked weary--I certainly felt so, and retired
to rest unusually early. The time seemed to me so long--would the end
NEVER come? The next day dawned and trailed its tiresome hours after
it, as a prisoner might trail his chain of iron fetters, until sunset,
and then--then, when the gray of the wintry sky flashed for a brief
space into glowing red--then, while the water looked like blood and the
clouds like flame--then a few words sped along the telegraph wires that
stilled my impatience, roused my soul, and braced every nerve and
muscle in my body to instant action. They were plain, clear, and
concise:

"From Guido Ferrari, Rome, to Il Conte