“No, not you,” he answered, turning away and beginning to walk up and down by the force of the habit he had acquired during the last two or three days.  “Not you,” he repeated more than once in a bitter tone.

Corona sank down upon the chair he had left, and buried her face in her hands, as though overcome by a great and sudden grief.  Giovanni stopped before her and looked at her, not clearly understanding what was passing in her mind.

“Why are you so sorry?” he asked.  “Has a separation of a few days changed you?  Are you sorry for me?”

“Why did you come here?” she exclaimed, instead of answering his question.  “Why here, of all places?”

“I had no choice.  The cardinal decided the matter for me.”

“The cardinal?  Why do you confide in him?  You never did before.  I may be wrong, but I do not trust him, kind as he has always been.  If you wanted advice, you might have gone to Padre Filippo—­”

“Advice?  I do not understand you, Corona.”

“Did you not go to the cardinal and tell him that you were very unhappy and wanted to make a retreat in some quiet place where nobody could find you?  And did he not advise you to come here, promising to keep your secret, and authorising you to stay as long as you pleased?  That is what he told me.”

“He told you that?” cried Giovanni in great astonishment.

“Yes—­that and nothing more.  He came to see me late this afternoon.  He said that he feared lest I should be anxious about your long absence, and that he thought himself justified in telling me where you were and in giving me a pass, in case I wanted to see you.  Besides, if it is not all as he says, how did you come here?”

“You do not know the truth?  You do not know what I did?  You do not guess why I am in the Holy Office?”

“I know only what he told me,” answered Corona, surprised by Giovanni’s questions.

But Giovanni gave no immediate explanation.  He paced the floor in a state of excitement in which she had never seen him, clasping and unclasping his fingers nervously, and uttering short, incoherent exclamations.  As she watched him a sensation of fear crept over her, but she did not ask him any question.  He stopped suddenly again.

“You do not know that I am in prison?”

“In prison!” She rose with a sharp cry and seized his hands in hers.

“Do not be frightened, dear,” he said in an altered tone.  “I am perfectly innocent.  After all, you know it is a prison.”

“Ah, Giovanni!” she exclaimed reproachfully, “how could you say such a dreadful thing, even in jest?” She had dropped his hands again, and drew back a step as she spoke.

“It is not a jest.  It is earnest.  Do not start.  I will tell you just what happened.  It is best, after all.  When I left you at the Termini, I saw that you had set your heart on liberating poor Faustina.  I could not find any way of accomplishing what you desired, and I saw that you thought I was not doing my best for her freedom.  I went directly to the cardinal and gave myself up in her place.”