‘Yes, Signora Contessa, and I give them back and implore your pardon.’
‘Why did you take them if it was not to extract money from me?’ Maria asked, recovering her presence of mind quickly.
In the storm of her distress she felt as if a wave had lifted her up and had set her high on the shore, and at the first moment she was more amazed at the man’s audacity than angry at what he had done.
‘Signora Contessa,’ he said, ‘the story the Count told you is true; since he forgave me, there is nothing I will not do for him, his interest, and his honour. I did your Excellency the great injustice of suspecting that you still corresponded with the Signor Conte del Castiglione. I have read the letters and I have observed the dates. I was wrong. If you think it wise to disturb my master’s peace by telling him what I have done, I must submit and bear his displeasure. He will turn me out for having dared to play detective and spy upon the Signora Contessa in his own house, for his confidence in you is absolute. Will your Excellency verify the contents of the package? I will hold the taper, if you will allow me.’
Maria felt as if she were in a dream, half good, half evil. She opened the packet while Schmidt held the light, and she quickly made sure that none of the letters were missing and that each was complete; that was soon done, for Castiglione had rarely filled more than one sheet in writing to her.
She laid them all together again and took the taper-stand from the steward without a word. It was all a dream. If he had been a villain, he might have had her fortune for what he was freely giving back to her; but he had nothing. He had not even begged her not to tell her husband what had happened. It was incomprehensible beyond all explanation; but one fact remained: she had recovered the letters of which the loss had nearly driven her mad, within an hour of finding that they had been stolen. That was the main thing, and nothing else mattered much for a while.
‘You have a singular way of serving your master,’ she said, as she reached the door of the passage; ‘but since you have appealed to my generosity, I shall say nothing to the Count.’
‘I am most grateful to your Excellency.’
He opened the door and held it back while she passed in, and when he had shut it after her he heard the bolt pushed into its slot. Then at last he smiled, for though a bolt is generally considered to be a solid fastening for the inside of a door, this one could easily be moved from without by an unobtrusive little brass button, no bigger than a pea, that moved along a slit narrow enough to pass unnoticed.
Schmidt waited in the chapel two hours. When he knew that the family was at dinner, he opened the passage door noiselessly and twisted together the ends of the wire he had cut. He had been badly frightened, but things had ended well enough; better for him than for the Countess, he thought.