She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, which terrified Settimia much more than any dramatic display of anger or hatred could have done.  In a few moments the woman was bound hand and foot.  Regina turned her upon her side, and arranged a pillow under her head as she had promised to do.  Then she sat down upon the floor beside the pillow and looked at her calmly.

“In this way we can talk,” she said.

Settimia’s rather stony eyes were wide with fear now, as she lay on her side, watching Regina’s face.

“I have always served you faithfully,” she said.  “I cannot understand why you treat me so cruelly.”

“Yes,” Regina answered, unmoved, “you have been an excellent maid, and I am sorry that I am obliged to tie you up like the calves that are taken to the city on carts.  Now tell me, where is Signor Corbario?”

“How should I know?” whined Settimia, evidently more frightened.  “I know nothing about Signor Corbario.  I swear that I have hardly ever seen him.  How can I possibly know where he is?  He is probably at his house, at this hour.”

“No.  You know very well that he has left the villa.  It will not serve to tell lies, nor to say that you know nothing about him, for I am sure you do.  Now listen.  I wish to persuade you with good words.  You and Signor Corbario were in South America together.”

Settimia’s face expressed abject terror.

“Never!” she cried, rocking her bound body sideways in an instinctive attempt to emphasise her words by a gesture.  “I swear before heaven, and the saints, and the holy—­”

“It is useless,” Regina interrupted.  “You have not forgotten what you and he did in Salta ten years ago.  You remember how suddenly Padilla died, when ‘Doctor’ Corbario was attending him, and you were his nurse, don’t you?”

She fixed her eyes sternly on Settimia’s, and the woman turned livid, and ground her teeth.

“You are the devil!” she said hoarsely.  “But it is all a lie!” she cried, suddenly trying denial again.  “I was never in South America, never, never, never!”

“This is a lie,” observed Regina, with perfect calm.  “If you do not tell me where Signor Corbario is to-night, I shall go to the police to-morrow and tell all I know about you.”

“You know nothing.  What is all this that you are inventing?  You are a wicked woman!”

“Take care!  Perhaps I am a wicked woman.  Who knows!  I am not a saint, but you are not my confessor.  It is the contrary, perhaps; and perhaps you will have to confess to me this night, before going to the other world, if you confess at all.  Where is Signor Corbario?”

As she asked the question, she quietly took the long pin from her hair and began to play with the point.

“Are you going to murder me?” groaned the wretched woman, watching the terrible little weapon.

“I should not call it murder to kill you.  This point is sharp.  Should you like to feel it?  You shall.  In this way you will perhaps be persuaded to speak.”