And then my thoughts wandered into speculation.

What might be this momentous letter that I carried?
What was this secret traffic 'twixt Cesare Borgia and his sister?
Since Cesare had said that it meant the ruin of Giovanni Sforza--a ruin so utter, so complete and humiliating that it must provoke the scornful mirth of all Italy--the knowledge of it must soon be mine.

Meanwhile I was an agent of that ruin.

Dear God! how that reflection warmed me! What joy I took in the thought that, though he knew it not, nor could come to know it, I Lazzaro Biancomonte, whom he had abused and whose spirit he had broken--was become a tool to expedite the work of abasement and destruction that was ripening for him.

And realizing all this, that letter I vowed to Heaven I would carry, suffering no obstacle to daunt me, suffering nothing to turn me from my path.
And then another voice seemed to arise within me, to cry out impatiently: "Yes, yes; but how ?" I rose, and approaching the table, I took up the jug of wine and poured myself a draught.