“Before God, this thing is a lie!” cried Corona, standing at her full height, her eyes flashing with just indignation.  Then lowering her voice, she continued speaking rapidly but distinctly.  “Gouache loves Faustina, and she loves him.  When he left this house that night she followed him out into the street.  She reached the Serristori barracks and was stunned by the explosion.  Gouache found her there many hours later.  When you saw us together a little earlier he was telling me he loved her.  He is a man of honour.  He saw that the only way to save her good name was to bring her here and let me take her home.  He sent me a word by the porter, while she waited in the shadow.  I ran down and found her there.  We purposely prevented the porter from seeing her.  I took her to her father’s house, and sent Gouache away, for I was angry with him.  I believed he had led an innocent girl into following him—­that it was a pre-arranged meeting and that she had gone not realising that there was a revolution.  I invented the story of her having lost herself here, in order to shield her.  The next day Gouache came.  I would not speak to him and went to my room.  The servants told me he was gone, but as I was coming back to you I met him.  He stopped me and made me believe what is quite true, for Faustina has acknowledged it.  She followed him of her own accord, and he had no idea that she was not safe at home.  I forgave him.  He said he was going to the frontier and asked me to give him a blessing.  It was a foolish idea, perhaps, but I did as he wished.  If you had come forward like a man instead of listening we would have told you all.  But you suspected me even then.  I do not know who told you that I had been to his lodging to-day.  The carriage was stopped by a crowd in the Tritone, and I reached the Pincio after you had gone.  As for the pin, I lost it a month ago.  Gouache may have found it, or it may have been picked up and sold, and he may have chanced to buy it.  I never wrote the letter.  The paper was either taken from this house or was got from the stationer who stamps it for us.  Faustina may have taken it—­she may have been here when I was out—­it is not her handwriting.  I believe it is an abominable plot.  But it is as transparent as water.  Take the pin and wear it.  See Gouache when you have it.  He will ask you where you got it, for he has not the slightest idea that it is mine.  Are you satisfied?  I have told you all.  Do you see what you have done, in suspecting me, in accusing me, in treating me like the last of women?  I have done.  What have you to say?”

“That you have told a very improbable story,” replied Giovanni.  “You have sunk lower than before, for you have cast a slur upon an innocent girl in order to shield yourself.  I would not have believed you capable of that.  You can no more prove your innocence than you can prove that this poor child was mad enough to follow Gouache into the street last Tuesday night.  I have listened to you patiently.  I have but one thing more to do and then there will be nothing left for me but patience.  You will send for your servants, and order your effects to be packed for the journey to Saracinesca.  If it suits your convenience we will start at eleven o’clock, as I shall be occupied until then.  I advise you not to see my father.”