now I ought, I cannot leave you. But, no--first I will see you
direct these letters."

"You shall," said she, taking a pen and directing them.

Ranuzi took the letters and examined them.

"This simple feminine address is the talisman that protects me and my
secret. And this I owe to you, my darling, to you alone. But will you
finish your work of mercy? Will you post these letters at once?"

"I will do so, Carlo."

"Will you swear it?" said he, laughing; "swear it to me by our love."

"I swear it--swear it by my love."

"And now, farewell, Marietta!--farewell for to-day. To-morrow I hope to
see you again."

He took her in his arms and whispered words of love and tenderness in
her ear. He did not notice, in his impatience to leave, how cold and
quiet she was. He took his hat, and bowing gayly left the room.

She stood where he had left her, her arms hanging listlessly at her
side, her head bowed upon her breast. She listened intently to his every
movement. Now he was on the last stair, now in the hall--when he had
crossed it he would be at the street door. With a wild shriek she fled
from the room, and hastened down the steps.

"Carlo! Carlo! wait a moment!"

His hand was on the door-knob; he stood still and looked back. She was
by his side--pale, with burning eyes and trembling lips, she threw her
arms around him and kissed him passionately.

"Farewell, my Carlo!--farewell, thou lover of my soul, thou light of my
eyes!"

She kissed his mouth, his eyes, his hands; she pressed him to her heart,
and then she pushed him from her, saying, in cold, rough tones, "Go! go,
I say!"

Without again looking at him she hurried up the stairs. Ranuzi, laughing
and shaking his head at her foolishness, left the house with a contented
and assured heart.

CHAPTER VII. THE ACCUSATION.

This time Marietta did not call him back; she did not gaze after him
from the window, as she was accustomed to do; she stood, pale as death,
in the middle of the room, with panting breath, with flashing eyes;
motionless, but with eager and expectant mien, as if listening to
something afar off.

To what was Marietta listening? Perhaps to the echo of his step in the
silent, isolated street; perhaps to the memories which, like croaking
birds of death, hovered over her head, as if to lacerate and destroy
even her dead happiness; perhaps she listened to those whispering voices
which resounded in her breast and accused Ranuzi of faithle