“I am afraid you will not find her,” replied Sant’ Ilario.  “But we must try for the sake of her poor mother.”

“It is a question of luck,” said the other, and they separated at once.

San Giacinto turned in the direction of the crowd which was pouring into the street at some distance farther on.  As he approached, he heard the name “Serristori” spoken frequently in the hum of voices.

“What about the Serristori?” he asked of the first he met.

“Have you not heard?” cried the fellow.  “It is blown up with gunpowder!  There are at least a thousand dead.  Half the Borgo Nuovo is destroyed, and they say that the Vatican will go next—–­”

The man would have run on for any length of time, but San Giacinto had heard enough and dived into the first byway he found, intending to escape the throng and make straight for the barracks.  He had to ask his way several times, and it was fully a quarter of an hour before he reached the bridge.  Thence he easily found the scene of the disaster, and came up to the hospital of Santo Spirito just after the gates had closed behind the bearers of the dead.  He mixed with the crowd and asked questions, learning very soon that the first search, made by the people from the hospital, had only brought to light the bodies of two Zouaves and one woman.

“And I did not see her,” said the man who was speaking, “but they say she was a lady and beautiful as an angel,” “Rubbish!” exclaimed another.  “She was a little sewing woman who lived in the Borgo Vecchio.  And I know it is true because her innamorato was one of the dead Zouaves they picked up.”

“I don’t believe there was any woman at all,” said a third.  “What should a woman be doing at the barracks?”

“She was killed outside,” observed the first speaker, a timid old man.  “At least, I was told so, but I did not see her.”

“It was a woman bringing a baby to put into the Rota,” [Footnote:  The Rota was a revolving box in which foundlings were formerly placed.  The box turned round and the infant was taken inside and cared for.  It stands at the gate of the Santo Spirito Hospital, and is still visible, though no longer in use.] cried a shrill-voiced washerwoman.  “She got the child in and was running away, when the place blew up, and the devil carried her off.  And serve her right, for throwing away her baby, poor little thing!”

In the light of these various opinions, most of which supported the story that some woman had been carried into the hospital, San Giacinto determined to find out the truth, and boldly rang the bell.  A panel was opened in the door, and the porter looked out at the surging crowd.

“What do you want?” he inquired roughly, on seeing that admittance had not been asked for a sick or wounded person.

“I want to speak with the surgeon in charge,” replied San Giacinto.

“He is busy,” said the man rather doubtfully.  “Who are you?”