"'My friend; I cannot receive you again in my room; Leoni knows all and threatens me with the most horrible consequences; take me away or I am lost. Take me to my mother or put me in a convent; do with me as you please, but rescue me from my present horrible plight. Be in front of the main door of the cathedral at one o'clock to-morrow morning, and we will make arrangements for our departure. It will be easy for me to meet you, as Leoni passes every night at La Zagarolo's. Do not be surprised by this extraordinary and almost illegible handwriting: Leoni, in a fit of anger, almost crushed my right hand. "'JULIETTE RUYTER.'" "It seems to me that letter is very judiciously expressed," said the marquis, "and that it will seem plausible enough to the Fleming, whatever the degree of intimacy between him and your wife. The words which she fancied that she was saying to him at times in her delirium make it certain that he offered to take her back to her own country. The writing is horrible, and whether he is familiar with Juliette's or not----" "Let me see it," said Leoni, leaning over the table with an air of interest. His face wore a horrifying expression of doubt and longing to be persuaded. I saw no more. My brain was exhausted, my thoughts became confused. I relapsed into a sort of lethargy. XVIII When I came to myself the flickering lamplight fell upon the same objects. I raised myself cautiously and saw the marquis just where he was when I lost consciousness. It was still dark. There were still bottles on the table, as well as a writing-desk and something which I could not see very plainly, but which resembled a weapon. Leoni was standing in the middle of the room. I tried to recall their previous conversation. I hoped that the ghastly fragments of it which recurred to my memory were merely the dreams of fever, and I had no idea at first that twenty-four hours had elapsed between that conversation and the one just beginning. The first words that I understood were these: "He must have suspected something for he was armed to the teeth." As he spoke, Leoni wiped his bleeding hand with his handkerchief. "Bah! yours is nothing but a scratch," said the marquis; "I have a more severe wound in the leg; and yet I must dance at the ball to-morrow, so that no one may suspect anything. So stop fussing over your hand, wrap it up and think of something else." "It is impossible for me to think of anything but that blood. It seems to me that I see a lake of it all about me." "Your nerves are too delicate, Leoni; you are good for nothing."