On reaching home the previous night, all her other sensations had
been absorbed in a vague feeling of mingled dread and curiosity,
produced by the sight of the weird figure in the yellow mask,
which she had left standing alone with Fabio in the palace
corridor. The morning light, however, suggested new thoughts. She
now opened the note which the young nobleman had pressed into her
hand, and read over and over again the hurried pencil lines
scrawled on the paper. Could there be any harm, any forgetfulness
of her own duty, in using the key inclosed in the note, and
keeping her appointment in the Ascoli gardens at ten o'clock?
Surely not--surely the last sentence he had written, "Believe in
my truth and honor, Nanina, for I believe implicitly in yours,"
was enough to satisfy her this time that she could not be doing
wrong in listening for once to the pleading of her own heart. And
besides, there in her lap lay the key of the wicket-gate. It was
absolutely necessary to use that, if only for the purpose of
giving it back safely into the hand of its owner.
As this last thought was passing through her mind, and plausibly
overcoming any faint doubts and difficulties which she might
still have left, she was startled by a sudden knocking at the
street door; and, looking out of the window immediately, saw a
man in livery standing in the street, anxiously peering up at the
house to see if his knocking had aroused anybody.
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