But read one of the letters
first yourself; any one will do as a sample of the rest."
Fixing his eyes searchingly on the priest, he handed him one of
the notes. Still a little paler than usual, Father Rocco sat down
by the nearest lamp, and shading his eyes, read these lines:
"COUNT FABIO---It is the common talk of Pisa that you are likely,
as a young man left with a motherless child, to marry again. Your
having accepted an invitation to the Melani Palace gives a color
of truth to this report. Widowers who are true to the departed do
not go among all the handsomest single women in a city at a
masked ball. Reconsider your determination, and remain at home. I
know you, and I knew your wife, and I say to you solemnly, avoid
temptation, for you must never marry again. Neglect my advice and
you will repent it to the end of your life. I have reasons for
what I say--serious, fatal reasons, which I cannot divulge. If
you would let your wife lie easy in her grave, if you would avoid
a terrible warning, go not to the masked ball!"
"I ask you, and I ask any man, if that is not infamous?"
exclaimed Fabio, passionately, as the priest handed him back the
letter. "An attempt to work on my fears through the memory of my
poor dead wife! An insolent assumption that I want to marry
again, when I myself have not even so much as thought of the
subject at all! What is the secret object of this letter, and of
the rest here that resemble it? Whose interest is it to keep me
away from the ball? What is the meaning of such a phrase as, 'If
you would let your wife lie easy in her grave'? Have you no
advice to give me--no plan to propose for discovering the vile
hand that traced these lines? Speak to me! Why, in Heaven's name,
don't you speak?"
The priest leaned his head on his hand, and, turning his face
from the light as if it dazzled his eyes, replied in his lowest
and quietest tones:
"I cannot speak till I have had time to think.
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