“I swear he has gone to Naples!” she cried—­“On my word!—­as I live!—­I swear it!—­he has gone!  He seemed as usual,—­he was not in any haste—­he left no message—­he said he would be back in two or three days—­he sent flowers to la Donna Sovrani—­he wrote to her . . .  O Santissima Virgine! . . .  I swear to you I know nothing!”

The Prince eyed her with grim attention.

“They are shouting it in the streets—­” he said—­“Listen!” He held up one hand,—­she cowered on the floor—­she could hear nothing, and she stared at him in fascinated terror—­“They are telling all Rome of the death of my child!  First Rome—­and then—­the world!  The world shall hear of it!  For there is only one Angela Sovrani,—­and earth and heaven cry out for justice in her name!  Tell this to the devil who has bought you for his pleasure!  I leave the message with you,—­ tell him that when the world clamours for vengeance upon her murderer, I know where to find him!”

With that, he put the dagger-sheath back in his breastpocket with jealous care, and left her where she crouched, shivering and moaning.  Walking as in a dream he brushed past the astonished and frightened servant unseeingly, and went out of the house into the street once more.  There he paused dizzily,—­the stars appeared to rock in the sky, and the houses seemed moving slowly round him in a sort of circular procession.  The shouting of the newsvendors which had ceased for a while, began again with even louder persistency.

“Morte di Angela Sovrani!”

“La bella Sovrani!—­Assassinamento crudele!”

The old man’s heart beat in strong hammer-strokes,—­he listened vaguely,—­his tall figure shaking a little with the storm pent-up within him, till all at once as if the full realization of the position had only just burst upon him, he uttered a sharp cry—­

“Her lover!  Her promised husband!  One whom she trusted and loved more than her own father!  The hope of her life!—­the man whose praise was sweeter to her than the plaudits of the whole world!—­he--even he—­her murderer!  For even if she lives in body, he has murdered her soul!”

He looked up at the deep starlit heavens, his dark face growing livid in the intensity of his wrath and pain.

“May God curse him!” he whispered thickly—­“May all evil track his footsteps, and the terrors of a cursed conscience hound him to his death!  May he never know peace by day or night!—­may the devils in his own soul destroy him!  God curse him!”

He clenched his fist and raised it threateningly,—­and gathering his cloak about him tried to walk on,—­but there was a black mist before his eyes . . . he could not see—­he stumbled forward blindly, and would have fallen, had not a strong arm caught him and held him upright.  He turned a dazed and wondering look on the man whose friendly grasp supported him,—­then, with an exclamation, made a trembling attempt to raise his hat.