From where she bent her eye at the big old-fashioned keyhole, she saw that the ponderous steel door had been opened by a key, for it was still in the shining lock. Within that safe her father kept a number of important state papers relating to the army, and quantities of correspondence had, from time to time, been brought up from Rome by official secretaries and he had placed them there for safety.
Once, while she had been helping him to arrange a quantity of technical documents and tie them in bundles with pink tape, he had remarked—
“These are safer here than in Rome, my dear. There are thousands who long to get sight of them, but they would never think of looking here.”
But there had been a still further curious incident, one which she recalled vividly at that moment as she watched the man intently examining the documents by the light of his candle. It had happened back in April, when some matters connected with the estate called His Excellency from Rome, and he had brought Mary with him up to San Donato, where they had remained only two days. The country was delightful in the bright springtime, and Mary had desired to remain longer, but it was impossible, for her father’s official duties took him back to the Eternal City—and besides, to live in the country in spring is not considered fashionable.
On the second night, while they were at the villa, he being alone, she sat with him in the library after dinner watching him rearrange a series of papers in the safe. It was eleven o’clock when he concluded and locked the great green door, then, carrying the key in his hand, he crossed to where she sat, and said in a calm, earnest voice—
“Mary, I know that you will keep a secret if I reveal one to you, won’t you?”
“Most certainly, father,” was her answer, not without some surprise.
“Then put on your cloak and a shawl around your head, my dear. I want to take you out.”
Her curiosity was increased, for although it was moonlight it was late to walk in the country. Nevertheless she obeyed, and together they passed down the steep, narrow bypath through the dark pine woods, deeper and deeper, until before them in the silence the Arno spread shimmering in the moonbeams.
At the river’s edge His Excellency suddenly halted, saying—