‘Ah, one thinks of what it contains,’ said the lady; ‘a title—an estate—a life, which will all be handed over to the Church.’
With a trembling hand the priest opened it; the Countess in an equally excited state looking on.
In the casket was an official-looking wrapper.
‘It is all right,’ said the Countess; ‘break the seal and master its contents.’
‘All in good time,’ said the priest. ‘Don’t agitate yourself; be calm.’
‘I am,’ said the Countess; ‘but delay not. Secure the prize; the hour has come.’
Suddenly the priest turned red and white. ‘In the name of the Holy Father,’ he said, ‘what have we here?’
‘Why, documents of the highest importance.’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ exclaimed the priest in a rage. ‘Nothing but an old English newspaper,’ as he threw it on the ground, with something that sounded like a rather expressive Italian oath.
The lady shrieked and nearly fainted away, only she thought better of it. The situation, it occurred to her, would be neither interesting nor picturesque. Alas! she had no help for it. That English maid-servant, of whom she fancied she had made a dupe, was more than a match for her after all, and had tampered with the documents she had carefully sealed and religiously guarded these many years.