“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 to have presented itself.  Ever since it was known that I intended to renew my intercourse with society at the ball to-morrow night, I have been persecuted by anonymous letters—­infamous letters, written from some motive which it is impossible for me to understand.  I want your advice on the best means of discovering the writers; and I have also a very important question to ask you.  But read one of the letters first yourself; any one will do as a sample of the rest.”

Fixing his eyes searchingly on the priest, he handed him one of the notes.  Still a little paler than usual, Father Rocco sat down by the nearest lamp, and shading his eyes, read these lines: 

“COUNT FABIO—–­It is the common talk of Pisa that you are likely, as a young man left with a motherless child, to marry again.  Your having accepted an invitation to the Melani Palace gives a color of truth to this report.  Widowers who are true to the departed do not go among all the handsomest single women in a city at a masked ball.  Reconsider your determination, and remain at home.  I know you, and I knew your wife, and I say to you solemnly, avoid temptation, for you must never marry again.  Neglect my advice and you will repent it to the end of your life.  I have reasons for what I say—­serious, fatal reasons, which I cannot divulge.  If you would let your wife lie easy in her grave, if you would avoid a terrible warning, go not to the masked ball!”