In spite of the fire which had been raging through my veins ever since the excursion to Testaccio, I had not seen my Lucrezia for four days.  I dreaded Father Georgi’s suave manner, and I was still more afraid of finding he had made up his mind to give me no more advice.  But, unable to resist my desires, I called upon Lucrezia after my French lesson, and found her alone, sad and dispirited.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, as soon as I was by her side, “I think you might find time to come and see me!”

“My beloved one, it is not that I cannot find time, but I am so jealous of my love that I would rather die than let it be known publicly.  I have been thinking of inviting you all to dine with me at Frascati.  I will send you a phaeton, and I trust that some lucky accident will smile upon our love.”

“Oh! yes, do, dearest!  I am sure your invitation will be accepted:” 

In a quarter of an hour the rest of the family came in, and I proffered my invitation for the following Sunday, which happened to be the Festival of St. Ursula, patroness of Lucrezia’s youngest sister.  I begged Donna Cecilia to bring her as well as her son.  My proposal being readily accepted, I gave notice that the phaeton would be at Donna Cecilia’s door at seven o’clock, and that I would come myself with a carriage for two persons.

The next day I went to M. Dalacqua, and, after my lesson, I saw Barbara who, passing from one room to another, dropped a paper and earnestly looked at me.  I felt bound to pick it up, because a servant, who was at hand, might have seen it and taken it.  It was a letter, enclosing another addressed to her lover.  The note for me ran thus:  “If you think it to be a sin to deliver the enclosed to your friend, burn it.  Have pity on an unfortunate girl, and be discreet.”

The enclosed letter which was unsealed, ran as follows:  “If you love me as deeply as ’I love you, you cannot hope to be happy without me; we cannot correspond in any other way than the one I am bold enough to adopt.  I am ready to do anything to unite our lives until death.  Consider and decide.”

The cruel situation of the poor girl moved me almost to tears; yet I determined to return her letter the next day, and I enclosed it in a note in which I begged her to excuse me if I could not render her the service she required at my hands.  I put it in my pocket ready for delivery.  The next day I went for my lesson as usual, but, not seeing Barbara, I had no opportunity of returning her letter, and postponed its delivery to the following day.  Unfortunately, just after I had returned to my room, the unhappy lover made his appearance.  His eyes were red from weeping, his voice hoarse; he drew such a vivid picture of his misery, that, dreading some mad action counselled by despair, I could not withhold from him the consolation which I knew it was in my power to give.  This was my first error in this fatal business; I was the victim of my own kindness.