"I suppose it would be wrong," she answered with a bitter little sigh.
"I will come back very soon, dearest. The time will be short."
"So long—so long! How can you say it will be short? If you do not come soon you will find me dead—I cannot bear it many days more."
"I will write to you."
"How can you write? Your letters would be seen. Oh no! It is impossible!"
"I will write to your friend—to the Princess Sant' Ilario. She will give you the letters. She is safe, is she not?"
"Oh, how happy I shall be! It will be almost like seeing you—no, not that! But so much better than nothing. But you do not go at once?"
"It may be to-day, to-morrow, at any time. But you shall know of it. Ah
Faustina! my own one—"
"Hush! There is my maid. Quick, behind the pillar. I will meet her.
Good-bye—good-bye—Oh! not good-bye—some other word—"
"God keep you, my beloved, and make it not 'good-bye'!"