"It is perhaps natural that you should find it hard to forgive me,
but you might at least write and put me out of suspense. I think
you would do so if you knew how much I suffer. Your great soul
cannot intend to torture me. To-night the burden of things is
almost more than I can bear, and I am nearly heartbroken. It is my
dark hour, dearest, and if you had to say you could never forgive
me, I think I could easier reconcile myself to that. I have been
so happy since I began to love you; I shall always love you even
if I have to lose you, and I shall never, never be sorry for
anything that has occurred.
"Not receiving any new letters from you, I am going back on the
old ones, and there is a letter of only two months ago in which
you speak of just such a case as mine. May I quote what you say?
"'Yet even if she were not so (i.e. worthy of your love and
friendship), even if there were, as you say, a fault in her, who
am I that I should judge her harshly? ... I reject the monstrous
theory that while a man may redeem the past a woman never can....
And if she has sinned as I have sinned, and suffered as I have
suffered, I will pray for strength to say, 'Because I love her we
are one, and we stand or fall together.' "It is so beautiful that I am even happy while my pen copies the
sweet, sweet words, and I feel as I did when the old priest spoke
so tenderly on the day I confessed, telling me I had committed no
sin and had nothing to repent of. Have I never told you about
that? My confessor was a Capuchin, and perhaps I should have
waited for his advice before going farther. He was to consult his
General or his Bishop or some one, and to send for me again.
"But all that is over now, and everything depends upon you. In any
case, be sure of one thing, whatever happens. Bruno has taught me
a great lesson, and there is not anything your enemies can do to
me that will touch me now. They have tried me already with
humiliation, with poverty, with jealousy, and even with the shadow
of shame itself. There is nothing left but death. And death
itself shall find me faithful to the last. Good-bye! Your poor
unforgiven girl, ROMA."
The morning after writing this letter Roma received a visit from one of
the Noble Guard. It was the Count de Raymond.