signing and signing, the coarse explanation of his
ruin--very true, however--everything in the recital had amused Dorsenne.
He knew enough Italian to appreciate the untranslatable passages of
the language of the man of the people. He was again on the verge of
laughter, when the fresco madonna, as he sometimes designated the young
girl, handed him an envelope the address upon which soon converted his
smile into an undisguised expression of annoyance. He pushed aside
the day's bill of fare which the old cook presented to him and said,
brusquely: "I fear I can not remain to breakfast." Then, opening
the letter: "No, I can not; adieu." And he went out, in a manner so
precipitate and troubled that the uncle and niece exchanged smiling
glances. Those typical Southerners could not think of any other trouble
in connection with so handsome a man as Dorsenne than that of the heart.

"Chi ha l'amor nel petto," said Signorina Sabatina.

"Ha lo spron nei fianchi," replied the uncle.

That naive adage which compares the sharp sting which passion drives
into our breasts to the spurring given the flanks of a horse, was not
true of Dorsenne. The application of the proverb to the circumstance was
not, however, entirely erroneous, and the novelist commented upon it in
his passion, although in another form, by repeating to himself, as he
went along the Rue Sistina: "No, no, I can not interfere in that affair,
and I shall tell him so firmly."

He examined again the note, the perusal of which had rendered him more
uneasy than he had been twice before that morning. He had not been
mistaken in recognizing on the envelope the handwriting of Boleslas
Gorka, and these were the terms, teeming with mystery under the
circumstances, in which the brief message was worded:

"I know you to be such a friend to me, dear Julien, and I have for
your character, so chivalrous and so French, such esteem that I have
determined to turn to you in an era of my life thoroughly tragical. I
wish to see you immediately. I shall await you at your lodging. I have
sent a similar note to the Cercle de la Chasse, another to the bookshop
on the Corso, another to your antiquary's. Wheresoever my appeal finds
you, leave all and come at once. You will save more for me than life.
For a reason which I will tell you, my return is a profound secret. No
one, you understand, knows of it but you. I need not write more to a
friend as sincere as you are, and whom I embrace with all