'Where is it?' asked Vito incredulously.
'I will show it to you,' Zoë answered, but she first turned to the maids, who waited at the end of the room. 'Go and prepare me the bath,' she said.
The two disappeared, though they did not believe that their mistress really wished to bathe again so soon. When they were gone, she stooped and took the letter from her shoe, unfolded it, and spread it out for Vito to see. The effect it made upon him was instantaneous; he looked at it carefully, and took a corner of it between his thumb and finger.
'This is the paper on which the master writes,' he said, as if convinced.
It did not occur to him that the slave Arethusa could write at all, nor any one else in the house except Omobono; and as for the latter, if he had written anything he must have done so under Zeno's orders. Writing of any sort commanded his profound and almost superstitious respect.
'This is certainly a letter from the master,' he said, satisfied at last, after what he considered a thoroughly conscientious inspection.
'And he wishes me to deliver it,' Zoë said. 'If I am to do that, you must be good enough to take me to the landing in the boat. There is no other way.'
'I could take the letter myself,' Vito suggested.
'No. Only a woman will be allowed to pass, where this must go.'
Vito began to understand, and nodded his head wisely.