"Then permit me to read it to you," said the Public Prosecutor, and taking the letter out of the envelope he began in a loud voice:
"'Dearest Elena....'"
"That's nothing," Bruno interrupted. "They're like brother and sister, I tell you."
The Public Prosecutor went on reading:
"'I continue to be overwhelmed with grief for the death of our poor little Joseph.'"
"That's right! That's David Rossi. He loved the boy the same as if he had been his own son. Go on."
"'... Our child—your child—my child, Elena.'"
"Nothing wrong there. Don't try to make mischief of that," cried Bruno.
"'But now that the boy is gone, and Bruno is in prison, perhaps for years, the obstacles must be removed which have hitherto prevented you from joining your life to mine and living for me, as I have always lived for you. Come to me then, my dear one, my beloved....'"
Here Bruno, who had been stepping forward at every word, snatched the letter out of the Public Prosecutor's hand.