He could not tell whether she was English or American. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. You don’t know, Anna, but when one is in danger one realizes that the— the other side of the line is Hell. “You will not even answer my letters. . . And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. Gianfrancesco never suspected that I had my own reasons for wanting you for my wife.
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