‘But they suspect her; and why do they suspect her?’ Laura questioned vehemently.  ’I ask, is it a Conservatorio rival, or the brand of one of the Clubs?  She has no answer.’

‘Observe.’  Carlo laid the paper under her eyes.

Three angles were clipped, the fourth was doubled under.  He turned it back and disclosed the initials B. R.  ’This also is the work of our man-devil, as I thought.  I begin to think that we shall be eternally thwarted, until we first clear our Italy of its vermin.  Here is a weazel, a snake, a tiger, in one.  They call him the Great Cat.  He fancies himself a patriot,—­he is only a conspirator.  I denounce him, but he gets the faith of people, our Agostino among them, I believe.  The energy of this wretch is terrific.  He has the vigour of a fasting saint.  Myself—­I declare it to you, signora, with shame, I know what it is to fear this man.  He has Satanic blood, and the worst is, that the Chief trusts him.’

‘Then, so do I,’ said Laura.

‘And I,’ Vittoria echoed her.

A sudden squeeze beset her fingers.  ‘And I trust you,’ Laura said to her.  ’But there has been some indiscretion.  My child, wait:  give no heed to me, and have no feelings.  Carlo, my friend—­my husband’s boy—­brother-in-arms! let her teach you to be generous.  She must have been indiscreet.  Has she friends among the Austrians?  I have one, and it is known, and I am not suspected.  But, has she?  What have you said or done that might cause them to suspect you?  Speak, Sandra mia.’

It was difficult for Vittoria to speak upon the theme, which made her appear as a criminal replying to a charge.  At last she said, ’English:  I have no foreign friends but English.  I remember nothing that I have done.—­Yes, I have said I thought I might tremble if I was led out to be shot.’

‘Pish! tush!’ Laura checked her.  ’They flog women, they do not shoot them.  They shoot men.’

‘That is our better fortune,’ said Ammiani.

‘But, Sandra, my sister,’ Laura persisted now, in melodious coaxing tones.  ’Can you not help us to guess?  I am troubled:  I am stung.  It is for your sake I feel it so.  Can’t you imagine who did it, for instance?’

‘No, signora, I cannot,’ Vittoria replied.

‘You can’t guess?’

I cannot help you.’

‘You will not!’ said the irritable woman.  ’Have you noticed no one passing near you?’

’A woman brushed by me as I entered this street.  I remember no one else.  And my Beppo seized a man who was spying on me, as he said.  That is all I can remember.’

Vittoria turned her face to Ammiani.

‘Barto Rizzo has lived in England,’ he remarked, half to himself.  ’Did you come across a man called Barto Rizzo there, signorina?  I suspect him to be the author of this.’

At the name of Barto Rizzo, Laura’s eyes widened, awakening a memory in Ammiani; and her face had a spectral wanness.