Paolo. In the wallet I found a letter and noticed it was in Anna's handwriting.
Mario. It was perfectly natural that your wife should write to our cousin.
Paolo. Naturally. In fact I have read it. Here it is. [Mario starts to take the letter.] No, listen. [Paolo reads.] "You write me—" [Speaking.] There is no heading. [Reads.] "You write me that if I do not respond you will return immediately. I love my husband, that is my reply. This and only this forever. I beg you not to torment me. Anna."
Mario. Of course.
Paolo. The scoundrel.
Mario. What date is that letter?
Paolo. Luciano himself has noted the hour and date when he received it. He has written here in pencil: "Received to-day, June 26th, 11 A.M." He killed himself before noon.
Mario. Poor devil! One can see it was a stroke of insanity; the writing demonstrates that.
Paolo. You understand of course, that I did not stop there. I opened the wallet. I found four other letters from Anna all on the same subject and in the same tone. The first is of three years ago. There are few words; returning a letter Luciano had written. I looked for this letter of Luciano—it is not here. He must have destroyed it. He kept only hers. Then there is a little note from Rome; you know Anna visited her mother in Rome for a month last winter. It is evident that our friend followed her. Anna would not see him. Then there is a long one which must have been written when he was recovering from that fall he had from his horse. It is the only long one among the five—written in affectionate terms, reasoning and begging; a wonderful letter, good, noble; read—read.
Mario [turning away]. No, no, no.