ued to be
spent alone in the studio, and all his afternoons to be occupied by
his clerical duties, until the day before the masked ball at the Melani
Palace.

Early on that day he covered over the statues, and locked the doors of
the work-rooms once more; then returned to his own lodgings, and did
not go out again. One or two of his friends who wanted to see him were
informed that he was not well enough to be able to receive them. If they
had penetrated into his little study, and had seen him, they would have
been easily satisfied that this was no mere excuse. They would have
noticed that his face was startlingly pale, and that the ordinary
composure of his manner was singularly disturbed.

Toward evening this restlessness increased, and his old housekeeper, on
pressing him to take some nourishment, was astonished to hear him answer
her sharply and irritably, for the first time since she had been in his
service. A little later her surprise was increased by his sending her
with a note to the Ascoli Palace, and by the quick return of an answer,
brought ceremoniously by one of Fabio's servants. "It is long since
he has had any communication with that quarter. Are they going to be
friends again?" thought the housekeeper as she took the answer upstairs
to her master.

"I feel better to-night," he said as he read it; "well enough indeed to
venture out. If any one inquires for me, tell them that I am gone to the
Ascoli Palace." Saying this, he walked to the door; then returned, and
trying the lock of his cabinet, satisfied himself that it was properly
secured; then went out.

He found Fabio in one of the large drawing-rooms of the palace, walking
irritably backward and forward, with several little notes crumpled
together in his hands, and a plain black domino dress for the masquerade
of the ensuing night spread out on one of the tables.

"I was just going to write to you," said the young man, abruptly, "when
I received your letter. You offer me a renewal of our friendship, and
I accept the offer. I have no doubt those references of yours, when we
last met, to the subject of second marriages were well meant, but they
irritated me; and, speaking under that irritation, I said words that I
had better not have spoken. If I pained you, I am sorry for it. Wait!
pardon me for one moment. I have not quite done yet. It seems that
you are by no means the only person in Pisa to whom the question of my
possibly marrying again appears