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IL VICCOLO DI MADAMA LUCREZIA.
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ship for me, don't speak of this affair to a living soul. Will you promise me that?"

He had such an expression of sadness as he addressed this supplication to me that I had not the courage to refuse him, and so I promised all that he desired. He thanked me effusively, and after having applied a compress of eau de Cologne to my chest, clasped my hand and bade me good-night.

"Apropos," I asked him just as he was opening the door to leave the room, "tell me how it was that you happened to be on hand just at the right moment to come to my assistance?"

"I heard the report," he replied, not without some display of embarrassment, "and left the house immediately, fearing that something might have happened you."

He left me hurriedly, after having again enjoined me to secrecy.

In the morning a surgeon came to look at me, sent, doubtless, by Don Ottavio. He prescribed an embrocation, but asked me no question as to the cause that had been instrumental in strewing violets upon the lilies of my complexion. They are close-mouthed at Rome, and being in that city I wished to conform to the usages of the inhabitants thereof.

Several days passed without my having an opportunity of conversing freely with Don Ottavio. He was preoccupied, even more gloomy than usual, and appeared, besides, to endeavor to avoid ray questions; he said not a word about the strange inhabitants of the viccolo di Madama Lucrezia during our brief and infrequent interviews. The day fixed for his ordination was drawing near, and I attributed his moodiness