“You are under a delusion.  Everything has been searched.  Moreover, it is quite well known that his deceased Excellency never kept money in the house.  There was consequently nothing to take.”

“Then it was done out of spite, by a servant, unless some one got in through the window.”

“No one could get in through the window.  It was done out of anger by this young lady.”

“I tell you it was not!” cried Giovanni, growing furious at the man’s obstinacy.

“There is reason to believe that it was,” returned the prefect, perfectly unmoved.

Giovanni stamped his foot upon the floor angrily and turned away.  Faustina had drawn back a little and was leaning upon Corona’s arm for support, while the latter spoke words of comfort in her ear, such words as she could find at such a time.  A timid murmur of approval arose from the others every time Giovanni spoke, but none of them ventured to say anything distinctly.  Giovanni was disgusted with them all and turned to the young girl herself.

“Donna Faustina, will you tell me what you know?”

She had seemed exhausted by the struggle she had already endured, but at Sant’ Ilario’s question, she straightened herself and came forward again one or two steps.  Giovanni thought her eyes very strange, but she spoke collectedly and clearly.

“I can only say what I have said before,” she answered.  “My father sent for me this afternoon, I should think about three o’clock.  He spoke of my marriage, which he has been contemplating some time.  I answered that I would not marry Prince Frangipani’s son, because—­ " she hesitated.

“Because?”

“Because I love another man,” she continued almost defiantly.  “A man who is not a prince but an artist.”

A murmur of horror ran round the little group of the girl’s relations.  She glanced at them scornfully.

“I am not ashamed of it,” she said.  “But I would not tell you unless it were necessary—­to make you understand how angry he was.  I forgot—­he had called my mother, and she was there.  He sent her away.  Then he came back and struck me!  I put my handkerchief to my mouth because it bled.  He snatched it away and threw it on the floor.  He took me by the arm—­he was standing—­I wrenched myself out of his hands and ran away, because I was afraid of him.  I did not see him again.  Beyond this I know nothing.”

Giovanni was struck by the concise way in which Faustina told her story.  It was true that she had told it for the second time, but, while believing entirely in her innocence, he saw that her manner might easily have made a bad impression upon the prefect.  When she had done, she stood still a moment.  Then her hands dropped by her sides and she shrank back again to Corona who put her arm round the girl’s waist and supported her.

“I must say that my sister’s tale seems clearly true,” said the feeble voice of Ascanio Bellegra.  His thin, fair beard seemed to tremble as he moved his lips.