She put it on the edge of the table near her, under the lamp, hid her shaking hands in the folds of her long white chiffon gown, and fixed her eyes upon the page.
The words of the dead saint swam before her eyes: "_Yea, He loveth us now as well while we are here, as He shall do while we are there afore His blessed face.

But for failing of love on our part, therefore is all our travail._" There were subdued footsteps outside, a tap, the duke's voice.
"May I come in ?" "Come in," she said, but she heard no words.
She made a superhuman effort.
"Come in," she said again, and this time to her relief she heard the words distinctly.
The duke entered and held the door half closed.
"I feared to disturb you, my child," he said, "but it is unavoidable that I disturb you.

It is a relief to find that you are not yet in bed and asleep.

A very grave, a very sad event has happened which necessitates the presence of the police commissioner.

Calm yourself, my Francesca, and my good friend the _delegato_ will explain." The official in the sash came in.