ubt. He will die of an attack of perfect unison. The sense
of hearing alone has survived the wreck of his faculties; that is the
only thread by which he holds on to life. A vigorous shoot springs
from that rotten stump. There are, I am told, many men in the same
predicament. May Madonna preserve them!

"You have not come to that! You can do all you want--all I want of you,
I know."

Towards morning the Prince stole away and found Carmagnola lying asleep
across the door.

"Altezza," said the gondolier, "the Duchess ordered me to give you this
note."

He held out a dainty sheet of paper folded into a triangle. The Prince
felt dizzy; he went back into the room and dropped into a chair, for his
sight was dim, and his hands shook as he read:--

"DEAR EMILIO:--Your gondola stopped at your palazzo. Did you not
know that Cataneo has taken it for la Tinti? If you love me, go
to-night to Vendramin, who tells me he has a room ready for you in
his house. What shall I do? Can I remain in Venice to see my
husband and his opera singer? Shall we go back together to Friuli?
Write me one word, if only to tell me what the letter was you
tossed into the lagoon.

"MASSIMILLA DONI."

The writing and the scent of the paper brought a thousand memories back
to the young Venetian's mind. The sun of a single-minded passion
threw its radiance on the blue depths come from so far, collected in
a bottomless pool, and shining like a star. The noble youth could not
restrain the tears that flowed freely from his eyes, for in the languid
state produced by satiated senses he was disarmed by the thought of that
purer divinity.

Even in her sleep Clarina heard his weeping; she sat up in bed, saw her
Prince in a dejected attitude, and threw herself at his knees.

"They are still waiting for the answer," said Carmagnola, putting the
curtain aside.

"Wretch, you have undone me!" cried Emilio, starting up and spurning
Clarina with his foot.

She clutched it so lovingly, her look imploring some explanation,--the
look of a tear-stained Samaritan,--that Emilio, enraged to find himself
still in the toils of the passion that had wrought his fall, pushed away
the singer with an unmanly kick.

"You told me to kill you,--then die, venomous reptile!" he exclaimed.

He left the palace, and sprang into his gondola.

"Pull," said he to Carmagnola.

"Where?" asked the old servant.

"Wher