The revelation of the truth that Jules Dubard was making a methodical
examination of her father's private papers held Mary spellbound.
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.