tention, I recommended him to undress, and I bade him adieu. It was cold, and I had no coat with me; Don Ottavio pressed me to take his, and in accepting it I received a lesson in the difficult art of wearing a cloak in the proper Roman fashion. I left the Aldobrandi palace muffled up to the eyes. I had gone but few steps on the pavement of the Square of Saint-Mark when a peasant, whom I had noticed seated on a bench by the gate of the palace, came up to me and held out a crumpled bit of paper. "Read it, for the love of God!" he said, and quickly disappeared, running at top speed.
I took the paper, and looked round for a light by which to read it. By the light of a lamp which was burning before a Madonna I saw it was a pencilled note, and written apparently in a trembling hand. I had much difficulty in making out the following words: — "Do not come to-night, or we are lost! All is known except your name. Nothing can sever us. — Your Lucrezia."
"Lucrezia!" I cried, "Lucrezia again! What devilish mystification underlies all this?
'Do not come.' But, my good lady, what road must I take to find you out?"
While I was cogitating over the contents of
