“On the strength of this bit of paper,” answered the little man, ruefully producing a note from his pocket.  “She must have had your letters shown to her soon after putting her own letter into the post.  For, on the evening of the same day, when I went up into her room, I found that she and her sister and the disagreeable dog had all gone, and observed this note laid on the table.”

Father Rocco took the note, and read these lines: 

“I have just discovered that I have been watched and suspected ever since my stay under your roof.  It is impossible that I can remain another night in the house of a spy.  I go with my sister.  We owe you nothing, and we are free to live honestly where we please.  If you see Father Rocco, tell him that I can forgive his distrust of me, but that I can never forget it.  I, who had full faith in him, had a right to expect that he should have full faith in me.  It was always an encouragement to me to think of him as a father and a friend.  I have lost that encouragement forever—­and it was the last I had left to me!

“NANINA.”

The priest rose from his seat as he handed the note back, and the visitor immediately followed his example.

“We must remedy this misfortune as we best may,” he said, with a sigh.  “Are you ready to go back to Florence to-morrow?”

The little man bowed again.

“Find out where she is, and ascertain if she wants for anything, and if she is living in a safe place.  Say nothing about me, and make no attempt to induce her to return to your house.  Simply let me know what you discover.  The poor child has a spirit that no ordinary people would suspect in her.  She must be soothed and treated tenderly, and we shall manage her yet.  No mistakes, mind, this time!  Do just what I tell you, and do no more.  Have you anything else to say to me?”

The little man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Good-night, then,” said the priest.

“Good-night,” said the little man, slipping through the door that was held open for him with the politest alacrity.

“This is vexatious,” said Father Rocco, taking a turn or two in the study after his visitor had gone.  “It was bad to have done the child an injustice—­it is worse to have been found out.  There is nothing for it now but to wait till I know where she is.  I like her, and I like that note she left behind her.  It is bravely, delicately, and honestly written—­a good girl—­a very good girl, indeed!”

He walked to the window, breathed the fresh air for a few moments, and quietly dismissed the subject from his mind.  When he returned to his table he had no thoughts for any one but his sick niece.

“It seems strange,” he said, “that I have had no message about her yet.  Perhaps Luca has heard something.  It may be well if I go to the studio at once to find out.”

He took up his hat and went to the door.  Just as he opened it, Fabio’s servant confronted him on the thresh old.