Yes; the pleasant duty having fallen to the lot of the Cardinal of making a communication to the Marchese, which would doubtless be highly gratifying to him, his Eminence was anxious to seize the earliest opportunity of performing so agreeable a task; and would be happy to see the Marchese at one o’clock that day, if that hour suited his lordship’s convenience.

“Delighted to have the honour of waiting on his Eminence at the hour named.”

The Marchese put the two letters on his toilet-table, and proceeded to dress.  They were large letters.  That from Monsieur Paterini was written on a sheet of foolscap paper, and addressed in a large strong hand, with the word Ravenna in letters half an inch high.  That from the Cardinal was contained in a large square envelope, sealed with a huge seal bearing his Eminence’s arms under a Cardinal’s hat, with its long many-tailed tassels hanging down on either side.

What a triumph would be this journey to Rome.  What a yet greater triumph the return from it.  The Legate would certainly hold a special state reception to welcome him back, and give him an opportunity of showing the new order to all his fellow-citizens.  What a proud hour it would be.

The Marchese was indulging in these thoughts; dressing himself the while, and looking every now and then at the two letters lying on his table, when a footman tapped at the door and handed to the valet, who was attending on his master, yet a third epistle.  Unlike the Cardinal’s servant, the man who had brought it had simply left it, and gone away without saying anything about an answer.

This third letter did not resemble its two predecessors—­at least on the outside—­at all.  It was a very little letter; not a quarter of the size of either of the others; and the seal wherewith it was sealed was not a tenth of the size of that of his Eminence; also, instead of being white like the Cardinal’s, or whity-yellow like the Prelate’s, it was rose-coloured, and delicately perfumed.  And the superscription, “All’ Illmmo Sigr il Sigr Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare,” was written in very daintily pretty and delicate small characters; as unmistakably feminine a letter as ever a gentleman received.

The Marchese’s face changed visibly as the little missive was put into his hands.  Yet he opened it eagerly, and opened his nostrils to the perfume, which exhaled from it, with a greedily sensuous seeming of pleasure.

This letter ran as follows:—­

“Dearest And Best,—­If you were not indeed and indeed so to me, could I have ever suffered the vow that binds us mutually to each other to have been uttered?—­Dearest and best, I write mainly, I think, for the mere pleasure of addressing you.  For I am sure that it is not necessary to ask you to come to me.  You can guess how eagerly I wish to speak to you; to hear from you that you have dismissed for ever those horrid thoughts that you vexed