MARIO. I felt it--yes, that Luciano had lost his head. PAOLO. And you never told me anything? MARIO. What had I to tell you? Seen by others these things appear greater and more offensive than they are. And then I might have been wrong; I only see you and Anna during your short visits to the country. If you, who are with her all the year, did not see anything--On the other hand, Anna was always on her guard, she knew perfectly how to defend herself. PAOLO. Oh, Anna! Anna is a saint! I have always thought of her as one. But now-- MARIO. GO on--tell me. PAOLO. In the wallet I found a letter and noticed it was in Anna's handwriting. MARIO. It was perfectly natural that your wife should write to our cousin. PAOLO. Naturally. In fact I have read it. Here it is. [_Mario starts to take the letter._] No, listen. [_Paolo reads._] "You write me--" [_Speaking._] There is no heading. [_Reads._] "You write me that if I do not respond you will return immediately. I love my husband, that is my reply. This and only this forever. I beg you not to torment me. Anna." MARIO. Of course. PAOLO. The scoundrel. MARIO. What date is that letter? PAOLO. Luciano himself has noted the hour and date when he received it. He has written here in pencil: "Received to-day, June 26th, 11 A.M." He killed himself before noon. MARIO. Poor devil! One can see it was a stroke of insanity; the writing demonstrates that. PAOLO. You understand of course, that I did not stop there. I opened the wallet. I found four other letters from Anna all on the same subject and in the same tone. The first is of three years ago. There are few words; returning a letter Luciano had written. I looked for this letter of Luciano--it is not here. He must have destroyed it. He kept only hers. Then there is a little note from Rome; you know Anna visited her mother in Rome for a month last winter. It is evident that our friend followed her. Anna would not see him. Then there is a long one which must have been written when he was recovering from that fall he had from his horse. It is the only long one among the five--written in affectionate terms, reasoning and begging; a wonderful letter, good, noble; read--read. MARIO [_turning away_]. No, no, no. PAOLO. Listen, just a moment. MARIO. I don't like to. PAOLO. She does nothing but speak of me, of our brotherly youth. She also speaks of you. She says-- MARIO. No, I beg of you. It is useless. I know what kind of a woman my sister-in-law is and I do not need proofs of her virtue. Why do you bother with those poor letters? Is it so painful that you have found them? PAOLO. Painful? It is painful that I am not able to weep for a false relative who wished to rob-- MARIO. Let him alone. He is dead and he has not robbed you of anything. If he had lived he would not have robbed you of anything, the same. Anna knew how--