rescued me from the jaws of
death, you would never have seen me again. Is it presumption in me to
write thus? Have you ever given me a right to speak in these words? I do
not know. I do not care. Man has a right to be grateful. It is the first
and most divine right I possess, to feel and to express my gratitude. For
out of the store of your kindness shown me when I was in the world,
strong and happy in the privilege of your society, I have drawn healing
medicine in my sickness, as tormented souls in purgatory get refreshment
from the prayers of good and kind people who remember them on earth. So,
therefore, if I have said too much, forgive me, forgive the heartfelt
gratitude which prompts me; and believe still in the respectful and
undying devotion of the humblest of your servants, UGO DEL FERICE."

Del Ferice read over what he had written with considerable satisfaction,
and having addressed his letter to Donna Tullia, he lost no time in
despatching Temistocle with it, instructing him to ask if there would be
an answer. As soon as the man was out of the house, Ugo rang for his
landlady, and sent for the porter's little boy, to whom he delivered the
letter to Don Giovanni, to be dropped into the nearest post-box. Then he
lay down, exhausted with his morning's work. In the course of two hours
Temistocle returned from Donna Tullia's house with a little scented
note--too much scented, and the paper just a shade too small. She took no
notice of what he had said in his carefully penned epistle; but merely
told him she was sincerely glad that he was better, and asked him to call
as soon as he could. Ugo was not disappointed; he had expected no
compromising expression of interest in response to his own effusions; and
he was well pleased with the invitation, for it showed that what he had
written had produced the desired result.

Don Giovanni Saracinesca received the anonymous note late in the evening.
He had, of course, together with his father, deposited cards of
condolence at the Palazzo Astrardente, and he had been alone to inquire
if the Duchessa would receive him. The porter had answered that, for
the present, there were standing orders to admit no one; and as Giovanni
could boast of no especial intimacy, and had no valid excuse to give, he
was obliged to be satisfied. He had patiently waited in the Villa
Borghese and by the band-stand on the Pincio, taking it for granted that
sooner or later Corona's carriage would appea