That Sgombro, of whom I spoke before, had a charming wife who is still alive, I believe.  Her name was Cornelia Gitti; she was as celebrated by her wit as by her beauty, which she kept in spite of her years.  Having recovered her liberty through the death of her husband, she knew better than to make herself a second time the prisoner of the Hymenean god; she loved her independence too much; but as she loved pleasure too, she accepted the homage of the lovers who pleased her taste.

One Monday, towards the end of July, my servant woke me at day-break to tell me that Laura wished to speak to me.  I foresaw some misfortune, and ordered the servant to shew her in immediately.  These are the contents of the letter which she handed to me: 

“My dearest, a misfortune has befallen me last evening, and it makes me very miserable because I must keep it a secret from everyone in the convent.  I am suffering from a very severe loss of blood, and I do not know what to do, having but very little linen.  Laura tells me I shall require a great deal of it if the flow of blood continues.  I can take no one into my confidence but you, and I entreat you to send me as much linen as you can.  You see that I have been compelled to make a confidante of Laura, who is the only person allowed to enter my room at all times.  If I should die, my dear husband, everybody in the convent would, of course, know the cause of my death; but I think of you, and I shudder.  What will you do in your grief?  Ah, darling love! what a pity!”

I dressed myself hurriedly, plying Laura with questions all the time.  She told me plainly that it was a miscarriage, and that it was necessary to act with great discretion in order to save the reputation of my young friend; that after all she required nothing but plenty of linen, and that it would be nothing.  Commonplace words of consolation, which did not allay the fearful anxiety under which I was labouring.  I went out with Laura, called on a Jew from whom I bought a quantity of sheets and two hundred napkins, and, putting it all in a large bag, I repaired with her to Muran.  On our way there I wrote in pencil to my sweetheart, telling her to have entire confidence in Laura, and assuring her that I would not leave Muran until all danger had passed.  Before we landed, Laura told me that, in order not to be remarked, I had better conceal myself in her house.  At any other time it would have been shutting up the wolf in the sheep-fold.  She left me in a miserable-looking small room on the ground floor, and concealing about herself as much linen as she could she hurried to her patient, whom she had not seen since the previous evening.  I was in hopes that she would find her out of danger, and I longed to see her come back with that good news.

She was absent about one hour, and when she returned her looks were sad.  She told me that my poor friend, having lost a great deal of blood during the night, was in bed in a very weak state, and that all we could do was to pray to God for her, because, if the flooding of the blood did not stop soon, she could not possibly live twenty-four hours.