Nina poured out the whole story.  The one clear idea that she had in mind was to leave Rome at once.  She wanted to go away!  Above all, she wanted to go away!  She was by this time quite hysterical.

The princess’s coolness gradually dominated as she said finally:  “The thing is incredible—­you must have misunderstood.  I don’t know what the explanation is, myself, but the worst blunder we can make is to judge too hastily.  I am sure it will come out differently than it seems, if you will but have patience.”

Savagely Nina turned on her.  “Are you against me? You, auntie!  Do you side with him?  And that Potensi?”

With an expression more troubled than angry, the princess answered gently, “Of course, my child, I don’t side against you—­but I can’t believe that they were really as you thought they were.”

A sudden violent knocking interrupted, and at the same moment Sansevero, who had been looking for his wife everywhere, rushed in, quite beside himself, with the announcement that Scorpa was dead.  The Sanseveros had for some days known the cause of his illness, and the doctor who had been at the duel had kept them informed of his condition.  Now there was not a minute to lose!  The news of the duke’s death had not yet been made public, but Giovanni must be got out of the country at once, or there would be trouble!  A train would go north in an hour, and the prince and princess hurried off to complete the arrangements for Giovanni’s departure.

Left alone in her room and to her own thoughts, Nina’s anger gradually lessened.  Giovanni’s danger, and his having to be taken away so weak and ill, appealed to her humanity and helped to soften her resentment.  Whether it had been for love of her or not, it was on her account that he had been placed in his present unfortunate situation.  He was going out of her life—­it was not likely that she would ever see him again—­but it took an hour or two’s turning of the subject over in her thoughts before she came to the conclusion that, instead of being resentful, she ought to be thankful for her escape.  She had finally reached this frame of mind when there was a knock at the door.

“May I come in, my dear?” Zoya Olisco entered as she spoke.  She stood a second on the threshold, then, closing the door after her, crossed the room quickly and, taking Nina’s face between her hands, looked at her with a half-quizzical grimace.  “You silly little cat,” she said softly, “surely you have not been melting into tears over the duke’s death—­nor yet for Giovanni’s departure?”

“How do you know about it?  Aunt Eleanor didn’t tell you, did she?  Is the news of the duke’s death out?”