"Shall I begin? Goodness knows what you will say, dear Don Franco! These are all useless words, but what would you have—alas! patience—! Well, I will begin—but where shall I begin? Oh, Lord! just see what a fool I am, not even knowing where to begin! Ah, that hallucination! Yes, I told you a lie just now; I can easily guess the origin of that hallucination. It has to do with a letter; a letter I showed Signora Teresa two years ago, a letter from Don Franco, your grandfather. Well, now let us begin at the beginning.
"During his last days my poor father spoke to me of a letter from Don Franco which I should find in the strong-box, where all the important papers were kept. He told me to read it, to preserve it carefully, and, when the time came, to act in accordance with the dictates of conscience. 'But' said he, 'it is almost certain there will be nothing to be done.' My poor father passed away. I searched the strong-box for the letter, but did not find it. I hunted the whole house over, but in vain. What could I do? I contented myself with reflecting that there was nothing to be done, and thought no more about the matter. A fool, was I not? A real idiot! Say so freely, I deserve it. I have said so to myself so many times! But let us continue. Do you know how your grandfather's estate was settled? Do you know how the affairs of your house were arranged? You will forgive me for speaking to you of these matters, will you not?"
"I know my grandfather died without a will, and that I have nothing," Franco replied. "But let us pass that over, and proceed."
To Franco it was truly a painful subject. At old Maironi's death no will had been found. In perfect love and harmony, the widow and the son, Don Alessandro, had divided the estate equally between them. In order to secure this arrangement the son had made a very large grant to his mother, declaring that he was only carrying out the paternal wishes, which had not found a means of expression. This depraved young man, a spendthrift and a gambler, was already caught in the toils of usurers at the time of his father's death. In the seven years he survived him he managed to spend everything, not leaving a penny to his only son, Franco, who found himself reduced to some twenty thousand svanziche, the fortune of his mother who had died in giving him birth.
"Yes, yes, let us get on," Gilardoni continued. "Three years ago, three years ago, I say, I received a letter from you. I remember it was the second of November, all Souls' Day. Curious circumstance, mysterious circumstance! Very well. That night I went to bed, and dreamed a dream. I dreamt of your grandfather's letter. Note that I had never thought of it again. I dreamt I was hunting for it, and that I found it in an old box I keep in the attic. I read it, still dreaming. It said there was a great treasure in the cellar of Casa Maironi at Cressogno and that that treasure was to come to you. I awoke in intense excitement, convinced that this had been a prophetic dream. I got up, and went to look in the box. I found nothing; but two days later, being about to sell certain lands which I owned at Dasio, I got out an old deed of purchase, which my father kept in the strong-box, and, in turning over the leaves, a letter fell out. I glanced at the signature and saw: Nobile Franco Maironi. I read the letter. It was the one in question! Thus you see, the dream...."
"Well," said Franco, interrupting him, "and what did this letter say?"
The Professor rose, took a match half a cubit long, ran it in among the live coals in the little fireplace, and lit the lamp.
"I have it here," he said with a great, despairing sigh. "Read it."
He took from his pocket and handed to Franco a small yellowish letter, without an envelope, and still showing traces of the little red wafer. The yellow-black lines of writing inside showed through here and there, almost in relief.
Franco took it, held it near the lamp, and read aloud as follows: