“Mercy on us!” exclaimed Pomponio, who had begun to take the books out of the box. “Mercy on us, what a dust!” Then added: “Really, it would be much better if you would let me take them all downstairs, and dust them there.”
But the Professor vigorously opposed the proposition. He wished it all to take place in his study, under his own eyes. He wanted, after they were dusted, himself to put the books in a case ready for their reception. And Pomponio, resigned to the inevitable, continued taking them out, dusting them as best he could, and handing them to his master, who, having glanced at the title, put them in place.
The air was surcharged with dust, which covered the furniture, penetrated the pores, making both master and servant cough and sneeze constantly. “There is a spider’s web on this,” said Pomponio as he lifted a large folio. It proved to be an antique atlas of the world, printed at Gotha by Justus Perthès; and it so happened that while the man was dusting it a little square envelope, yellowed with age, dropped from its leaves and fell upon the floor.
“Gracious, what is that?” said Pomponio. “It looks like a letter.” And putting down the atlas, he stooped to pick it up.
But the Professor had anticipated him, and, half-dazed, was turning the letter round and round. Without doubt it was a letter, and one of his own at that, still sealed, the stamp uncanceled, addressed in his own writing; the heavy, weighty writing of a man born to be a cavaliere of many orders; a fellow of many societies. It was a too distinct hand, giving assurance that the letter should reach its destination if it had been mailed!
“Alla gentile Signorina Maria Lisa Altavilla, Firenze, Via dei Servi, No. 25—1 Floor.”
That name appearing so unexpectedly under his eyes carried Professor Cernieri back twenty years, forcing from the mists of oblivion a slender, graceful girl, whose lovely countenance was crowned with an expression of rare sweetness. For her alone had his heart ever quickened. For her sake alone had he once for one day, for an hour, thought seriously of taking a wife. And then?—
Pomponio, who was consumed with curiosity, had noiselessly approached the professor and murmured: “But how in the world did it get hidden in that book?”
Cernieri turned briskly—“What business have you here? Leave the room.”
“Shall I not go on?”