“I was not thinking of that,” replied Fortini.  “I meant that what a man could hardly have had the heart to do might, perhaps, have been done by a woman.  Beauty is not, I fancy, always found to produce quite the same sort of effect on another female as it is wont to produce on the other sex.”

“Might have been done by a woman?  That seems hardly likely, I think, caro mio.  In the Pineta at that hour of the morning?  Che!  What woman is likely to have been there?”

“Well, we happen to know that there was a woman very near the spot where the crime was committed at the time that it was committed.”

“You don’t say so?” interrupted the anatomist.  “Good heavens!  This is quite new to me, and, of course, most important.  I am delighted to hear what seems to cast so strong a doubt on the guilt of the Marchesino.”

“And that is not all.  We know further,” continued the lawyer, eagerly, “that the woman in question had the strongest of all the possible motives that ever influence a female mind to hate—­to desire the death of this poor girl that now lies here.  The question is, whether this death was caused by any means which a woman—­a young girl—­may be supposed to have used,” said the lawyer.

“Ha! a case of jealousy, I suppose?  You don’t mean it.  God knows, I should be more glad than I will say if there were any means of showing that the Marchese Ludovico had no hand in the matter.  If it were brought home to him it would kill my old friend the Marchese Lamberto outright; I do believe it would kill him.”

“I thought at first, to tell you the truth, Signor Professore, that it must have been the Marchesino who did the deed; the circumstances seemed so terribly strong against him.  But—­certain facts have come to my knowledge—­in short, I begin to have very great hopes that he was in reality wholly innocent of it; and still greater hopes that if we cannot succeed in bringing the crime home to any other party, yet that the difficulty and doubt hanging about the case will be so great that all conviction will be impossible.”

“A woman, you tell me?  A young woman, I suppose, from what you say?” said the Professor, inquiringly.

“Yes; a young woman, and, as I am told, a very pretty one—­a certain young girl—­a Venetian artist, of the name of Foscarelli—­Paolina Foscarelli, with whom it seems the Marchesino was foolish enough to fall in love.  Well, this girl sees the Marchese and Bianca driving out alone together at that time in the morning to the Pineta—­that much we know—­sees them cheek by jowl together in a little bagarino, doing heaven only knows what—­billing and cooing.  Now it seems to me that she would, under these circumstances, be likely to feel not altogether kindly towards the lady in possession, eh, Signor Professore?  You know the nature of the creatures better than I do; what do you think about it?”

“Similar little accidents have produced as terrible results before now—­ay, many a time, there is no denying that.  If we can ascertain how the deed was done it will be likely enough to throw some light on the probabilities of the case,” returned the Professor, proceeding to scrutinize carefully the body as it lay before in any way disturbing the position or the garments.