“Signor Fortini, I cannot avail myself of them.  I have made up my mind I will not add another such damning ground of suspicion against me.  Here I will remain to answer, as best I can, all the accusations that may be brought against me.  I will not fly.”

The old lawyer shook his head and sighed deeply.

“A bad business,” he said, “a very bad business.  It will kill the Marchese Lamberto; and I won’t say what I would not have given to have escaped seeing your father’s son, Signor Marchese, in the position in which you stand.”

“Will you carry your kindness yet one step further, Signor Fortini, and, despite my rejection of your first advice, tell me what you think I had better first do now immediately, I mean—­on the supposition that I am determined to remain in the city?”

“I think,” said the lawyer, after a pause for consideration, “that the best course for you to take in the case would be to go at once to the magistrates and make your statement to them of the circumstances according to your own version of the story,—­stating that you hastened to do so on seeing the dead body at the city gate; I think that is the best thing you can do.  Observe, I cannot say that I think it likely that, if you do so, you will pass this night under the roof of the Palazzo Castelmare; but, if you are determined to remain in the city, I think that is the best thing you can do.”

“That, then, I will do,” returned the Marchese.  “I thank you, Signor Fortini, for the advice which I can follow, and not less for that which I cannot follow.  Good-evening.”

“Good-evening, Signor Marchese.  I hope it may be better with you than I fear.  And, of course, if you need me, as you will, you will summon me, and I will not fail to be with you within a few minutes of your call.”

“Thanks, Signor Fortini.  Addio.”

“One word more, Signor Marchese, before you go.  When you uncovered the face of the woman lying dead yonder you exclaimed, `Paolina!’ What was the thought that led you to do so?  You could not have mistaken the identity?  Of course, you know that I question you only in your own interest?”

“Did I say `Paolina?’ replied the Marchese, with an apparent effort at recollecting himself.

“You did.  On seeing the face you exclaimed, `Paolina mia!’—­so much so, that I felt no doubt that it was this Paolina who lay dead there.  What was it moved you to that exclamation?”

“I don’t know.  I can’t tell.  I was very anxious about Paolina.  The thought of her was uppermost in my mind, I suppose.”

“Humph!” said the lawyer, thoughtfully and doubtingly.

All this conversation had passed hurriedly in the small deserted street into which Ludovico and the lawyer had turned on leaving the city gate; and, when they parted, the two men took different directions,—­the lawyer returning to the gate with the germ of an idea in his mind, which the last portion of his conversation with the Marchese had generated there, and which subsequent circumstances tended to develop, and the Marchese Ludovico going in the direction of the Palazzo del Governo.