“It is my business to suppose so,” he answered.  “I am not the law, nor his Eminence either, and it is not for me to weigh the defence or to listen to appeals for mercy.  I act upon my own responsibility, and it is for me to judge whether the facts are likely to support me.  My reputation depends upon my judgment and upon nothing else.  The fate of the accused depends upon a number of considerations with which I have nothing to do.  I must tell you plainly that this interview must come to an end, I am very patient.  I wish to overlook nothing.  Arguments are of no avail.  If there is any better evidence to offer against any one else in this house, I am here to take note of it.”

He looked coolly round the circle of listeners.  Faustina’s relations shrank back a little under his glance.

“Not being able to find any person here who appears more likely to be guilty, and having found enough to justify me in my course, I intend to remove this young lady at once to the Termini.”

“You shall not!” said Giovanni, placing himself in front of him in a threatening attitude.  “If you attempt anything of the sort, I will have you in prison yourself before morning.”

“You do not know what you are saying, Signor Principe.  You cannot oppose me.  I have an armed force here to obey my orders, and if you attempt forcible opposition I shall be obliged to take you also, very much against my will.  Donna Faustina Montevarchi, I have the honour to arrest you.  I trust you will make no resistance.”

The semi-comic phrase fell from his lips in the professional tone; in speaking of the arrest as an honour to himself, he was making an attempt to be civil according to his lights.  He made a step forward in the direction of the young girl, but Giovanni seized him firmly by the wrist.  He made no effort to release himself, however, but stood still.

“Signor Principe, be good enough to let go of my hand.”

“You shall not touch her,” answered Giovanni, not relinquishing his grasp.  He was beginning to be dangerous.

“Signor Principe, release me at once!” said the prefect in a commanding tone.  “Very well, I will call my men,” he added, producing a small silver whistle with his free hand and putting it to his lips.  “If I call them, I shall have to send you to prison for hindering me in the execution of my duty,” he said, fixing his eyes on Giovanni and preparing to sound the call.

Giovanni’s blood was up, and he would not have let the man go.  At that moment, however, Faustina broke from Corona’s arms and sprang forward.  With one hand she pushed back Sant’ Ilario; with the other she seized the whistle.

“I will go with you!” she cried, speaking to the prefect.  “I will go with him!” she repeated, turning to Giovanni.  “It is a horrible mistake, but it is useless to oppose him any longer.  I will go, I say!” An hysterical chorus of cries from her relations greeted this announcement.