persons.

The next day I went to M. Dalacqua, and, after my lesson, I saw Barbara
who, passing from one room to another, dropped a paper and earnestly
looked at me. I felt bound to pick it up, because a servant, who was at
hand, might have seen it and taken it. It was a letter, enclosing another
addressed to her lover. The note for me ran thus: "If you think it to be
a sin to deliver the enclosed to your friend, burn it. Have pity on an
unfortunate girl, and be discreet."

The enclosed letter which was unsealed, ran as follows: "If you love me
as deeply as 'I love you, you cannot hope to be happy without me; we
cannot correspond in any other way than the one I am bold enough to
adopt. I am ready to do anything to unite our lives until death. Consider
and decide."

The cruel situation of the poor girl moved me almost to tears; yet I
determined to return her letter the next day, and I enclosed it in a note
in which I begged her to excuse me if I could not render her the service
she required at my hands. I put it in my pocket ready for delivery. The
next day I went for my lesson as usual, but, not seeing Barbara, I had no
opportunity of returning her letter, and postponed its delivery to the
following day. Unfortunately, just after I had returned to my room, the
unhappy lover made his appearance. His eyes were red from weeping, his
voice hoarse; he drew such a vivid picture of his misery, that, dreading
some mad action counselled by despair, I could not withhold from him the
consolation which I knew it was in my power to give. This was my first
error in this fatal business; I was the victim of my own kindness.

The poor fellow read the letter over and over; he kissed it with