Her eyes flashed; she looked like her old self once more as she spoke.
It was only for a moment. The old ardour and impetuosity were
nearly worn out. Her head sank; she sighed heavily as she unlocked
a desk which stood on the table. Opening a drawer in the desk,
she took out a leaf of vellum, covered with faded writing.
Some ragged ends of silken thread were still attached to the leaf,
as if it had been torn out of a book.
'Can you read Italian?' she asked, handing the leaf to Agnes.
Agnes answered silently by an inclination of her head.
'The leaf,' the Countess proceeded, 'once belonged to a book in the old
library of the palace, while this building was still a palace.
By whom it was torn out you have no need to know. For what purpose
it was torn out you may discover for yourself, if you will.
Read it first--at the fifth line from the top of the page.'
Agnes felt the serious necessity of composing herself.
'Give me a chair,' she said to Henry; 'and I will do my best.'
He placed himself behind her chair so that he could look over her
shoulder and help her to understand the writing on the leaf.
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