but in justice to the deceased. If all the letters are of the
same tone as the one I unknowingly opened, I have no doubt Ferrari
considered himself a sufficiently injured man. But of that you will
judge for yourself, though, if I might venture so far in the way of
friendship, I should recommend you to give careful consideration to the
inclosed correspondence before tying the matrimonial knot to which you
alluded the other evening. It is not wise to walk on the edge of a
precipice with one's eyes shut! Captain Ciabatti was the first to
inform me of what I now know for a fact--namely, that Ferrari left a
will in which everything he possessed is made over unconditionally to
the Countess Romani. You will of course draw your own conclusions, and
pardon me if I am guilty of trop de zele in your service. I have now
only to tell you that all the unpleasantness of this affair is passing
over very smoothly and without scandal--I have taken care of that. You
need not prolong your absence further than you feel inclined, and I,
for one, shall be charmed to welcome you back to Naples. With every
sentiment of the highest consideration and regard, I am, my dear conte,

"Your very true friend and servitor,
"PHILIPPE D'AVENCOURT."

I folded this letter carefully and put it aside. The little package he
had sent me lay in my hand--a bundle of neatly folded letters tied
together with a narrow ribbon, and strongly perfumed with the faint
sickly perfume I knew and abhorred. I turned them over and over; the
edges of the note-paper were stained with blood--Guido's blood--as
though in its last sluggish flowing it had endeavored to obliterate all
traces of the daintily penned lines that now awaited my perusal. Slowly
I untied the ribbon. With methodical deliberation I read one letter
after the other. They were all from Nina--all written to Guido while he
was in Rome, some of them bearing the dates of the very days when she
had feigned to love ME--me, her newly accepted husband. One very
amorous epistle had been written on the self-same evening she had
plighted her troth to me! Letters burning and tender, full of the most
passionate protestations of fidelity, overflowing with the sweetest
terms of endearment; with such a ring of truth and love throughout them
that surely it was no wonder that Guido's suspicions were all
unawakened, and that he had reason to believe himself safe in his
fool's paradise. One passage in this poetical and