“You may throw that into the fire.”
“What is a Protestant?”
“I will tell you another time. Give me the letter.”
“Praised be God, here it is!”
“That’s lucky; but it has no address.”
My heart beat fast, as I opened it, and found, instead of an address, these words in Italian:
“To the most honest man of my acquaintance.”
Could this be meant for me? I turned down the leaf, and read one word—Henriette! Nothing else; the rest of the paper was blank.
At the sight of that word I was for a moment annihilated.
“Io non mori, e non rimasi vivo.”