The prison of the Termini was under the administration of an order of nuns devoted especially to the care of prisoners.  The prefect arrived in his own carriage simultaneously with the one which conveyed his prisoner and her friends.  As the gate was opened and one of the sisters appeared, he whispered a few words into her ear.  She looked grave at first, and then, when she saw Faustina’s angel face, she shook her head incredulously.  The prefect had accomplished his duty, however.  The prison-gates closed after the two ladies, and the sentinel outside resumed his walk, while the carriages drove away, the one containing the officer of the law and the other Giovanni, who had himself driven at once to the Vatican, in spite of the late hour.  The great cardinal received him but, to his amazement, refused an order of release.

The sister who admitted Corona and Faustina took the latter’s hand kindly and looked into her face by the light of the small lantern she carried.

“It is some dreadful mistake, my child,” she said.  “But I have no course but to obey.  You are Donna Faustina Montevarchi?”

“Yes—­this is the Princess Sant’ Ilario.”

“Will you come with me?  I will give you the best room we have—­it is not very like a prison.”

“This is,” said Faustina, shuddering at the sight of the massive stone walls, quite as much as from the dampness of the night air.

“Courage, dear!” whispered Corona, drawing the girl’s slight figure close to her and arranging the mantle upon her shoulders.  But Corona herself was uneasy as to the result of the ghastly adventure, and she looked anxiously forward into the darkness beyond the nun’s lantern.

At last they found themselves in a small whitewashed chamber, so small that it was brightly lighted by the two wicks of a brass oil-lamp on the table.  The nun left them alone, at Corona’s request, promising to return in the course of an hour.  Faustina sat down upon the edge of the little bed, and Corona upon a chair beside her.  Until now, the unexpected excitement of what had passed during the last three or four hours had sustained the young girl.  Everything that had happened had seemed to be a part of a dream until she found herself at last in the cell of the Termini prison, abandoned by every one save Corona.  Her courage broke down.  She threw herself back upon the pillow and burst into tears.  Corona did not know what to do, but tried to comfort her as well as she could, wondering inwardly what would have happened had the poor child been brought to such a place alone.

“What have I done, that such things should happen to me?” cried Faustina at last, sitting up and staring wildly at her friend.  Her small white hands lay helplessly in her lap and her rich brown hair was beginning to be loosened and to fall upon her shoulders.

The tears stood in Corona’s eyes.  It seemed to her infinitely pathetic that this innocent creature should have been chosen as the victim to expiate so monstrous a crime.