rd at the latter's lodgings in Trastevere, the stamp was an
Italian one, and the postmark was that of the military post-office in
Massowah. Monsignor Saracinesca looked at the envelope curiously, took
it from Madame Bernard and examined the stamped date. Then he asked
her if she was quite sure of the handwriting, and she assured him that
she was; Giovanni had written before he started into the interior with
the expedition, and she herself had received the letter from the
postman and had given it to Angela. What was more, after Angela had
gone to live at the Convent, Madame Bernard had found the old envelope
of the letter in a drawer and had kept it, and she had just looked at
it before leaving her house.

'He is alive,' she said with conviction; 'he has written this letter
to her, and he does not know that she is a nun. He is coming home, I
am sure!'

Monsignor Saracinesca was a man of great heart and wide experience,
but such a case as this had never come to his knowledge. He stood
still in deep thought, bending a little as he rested both his hands on
the battered silver knob of his old stick.

'He is coming home!' repeated Madame Bernard in great distress. 'What
are we to do?'

'What were you going to do just now, when I met you at the door?'
asked the prelate.

'I do not know! I was going to see her! Perhaps I would have broken
the news to her gently, perhaps I would have said nothing and kept the
letter to give it to her at another time! How can I tell what I would
have done? It would have depended so much on the way she took the
first suggestion! People have died of joy, Monseigneur! A little
weakness of the heart, a sudden joyful surprise, it stops beating--that
has happened before now!'

'Yes. It has happened before now. I knew of such a case myself.'

'And I adore the child!' cried the impulsive Frenchwoman, ready to
burst into tears. 'Oh, what shall we do? What ought we to do?'

'Do you know the Mother Superior?'

'Oh yes! Quite well. Are you going to tell me that I should take the
letter to her? She is a cold, hard woman, Monseigneur! A splendid
woman to manage a hospital, perhaps, but she has no more heart than a
steel machine! She will burn the letter, and never tell any one!'

'I think you are mistaken about her,' answered the churchman gravely.
'She has more heart than most of us, and I believe that even you
yourself are not more devoted to Sister Giovanna than she is.'

'Really, Monseigneur?