"I cannot say, excellency; they were here when I came this morning. Possibly the Signor de St. Armande, who was with your worship all night." "All night!" "Signore." I could not help being touched by this proof of devotion, and when I had dressed went down, with the intention of finding my letter, and thanking the chevalier for his kindness. I was, I saw, still a little weak, but a few hours' rest would make me fit for action, and I could not help thinking I had been made much over, on too small an occasion. St. Armande was in the room where I had left the letter, and at the first glance I saw he was haggard and worn, with dark circles under his eyes, eyes which many a beauty would have been proud to own. He seemed so slim, so small and delicate, as he came to meet me, that my heart began to misgive me again, as to his powers to endure the labour involved in the difficult adventure we had before us. He was much concerned at my having risen, made many enquiries about my condition, and put aside my thanks. "_Per Bacco!_ chevalier," I said, "you look more of an invalid than I. I fear me, I shall have to be nurse in my turn." "It is but a touch of the megrims, I have; but you must not think of doing anything for a week." "Or a month, or a year," I gibed, as I turned over the cushions of the couch, and in answer to St. Armande's enquiring look, went on, "The letter I received yesterday--I am certain I left it here." He came forward to help me, but with no avail. "It must have been blown away," he said. "But I put it under the cushions!" "True--but you forget you were moved, and the things were shifted. Come to breakfast now, and I will have a thorough search made afterwards." "Not yet; I will but step over to the convent, and enquire after the Lady Angiola----" "What! With a bandaged face?" "It is a wound," I answered coldly, and turning, went out of the villa. My lackey ran forward to enquire if a horse should be made ready; but thinking the walk would do me good, I declined. I was right in this, the fresh, air acted as a tonic, and when I reached the gates of the convent, all the giddiness had passed. There, to my dismay, I heard that Angiola was unable to leave her room, a thing I might have expected, and sending a civil message I retraced my steps, entering the villa by a side gate, and walking towards it through a deserted portion of the garden. I went leisurely, stopping every now and again to admire the flowers and the trees. In one of these rests, whilst I idly gazed about me, my eye was arrested by a number of fragments of paper, that lay on the green turf at my feet. Yielding to an impulse I could not control, I stopped and picked up one of the pieces, and saw in a moment it was a piece of Angiola's letter to me. I lost no time in collecting the remaining bits of the paper, and carefully placed them in my vest pocket. Then I retraced my steps to the villa.