“Who is there?” asked the porter, thrusting his head out.

“Is the Principe di Sant’ Ilario still awake?” asked Gouache.

“He is not at home.  Heaven knows where he is.  What do you want?  The princess is sitting up to wait for the prince.”

“That will do as well,” replied Anastase.  “I am sent with this note from the Vatican.  It needs an immediate answer.  Be good enough to say that I was ordered to wait.”

The explanation satisfied the porter, to whom the sight of a Zouave was just then more agreeable than usual.  He put his arm out through the grating and took the paper.

“It does not look as though it came from the Vatican,” he remarked doubtfully, as he turned the scrap to the light of his lamp.

“The cardinal is waiting—­make haste!” said Gouache.  It struck him that even if the man could read a little, which was not improbable, the initials A. G., being those of Cardinal Antonelli in reversed order would be enough to frighten the fellow and make him move quickly.  This, indeed was precisely what occurred.

In five minutes the small door in the gate was opened and Gouache saw Corona’s tall figure step out into the street.  She hesitated a moment when she saw the Zouave alone, and then closed the door with a snap behind her.  Gouache bowed quickly and gave her his arm.

“Let us be quick,” he said, “or the porter will see us.  Donna Faustina is under that doorway.  You know how grateful I am—­there is no time to say it.”

Corona said nothing but hastened to Faustina’s side.  The latter put her arms about her friend’s neck and kissed her.  The princess threw a wide cloak over the young girl’s shoulders and drew the hood over her head.

“Let us be quick,” said Corona, repeating Gouache’s words.  They walked quickly away in silence, and no one spoke until they leached the Palazzo Montevarchi.  Explanations were impossible, and every one was too much absorbed by the danger of the situation to speak of anything else.  When they were a few steps from the gate Corona stopped.

“You may leave us here,” she said coldly, addressing Gouache.

“But, princess, I will see you home,” protested the latter, somewhat surprised by her tone.

“No—­I will take a servant back with me.  Will you be good enough to leave us?” she asked almost haughtily, as Gouache still lingered.

He had no choice but to obey her commands, though for some time he could not explain to himself the cause of the princess’s behaviour.

“Goodnight, Madame.  Good-night, Mademoiselle,” he said, quietly.  Then with a low bow he turned away and disappeared in the darkness.  In five minutes he had reached the bridge, running at the top of his speed, and he regained his post without his absence having been observed.

When the two women were alone, Corona laid her hand upon Faustina’s shoulder and looked down into the girl’s face.