“He does not like strangers,” remarked Corona, coldly.  She rose with the child in her arms and moved towards the door, Gouache following her with the intention of opening it for her to go out.  The prince was still thundering out curses against the conspirators, and Anastase attempted to say a word unobserved as Corona passed him.

“Will you not give me a hearing?” he asked in a low tone, accompanying his words with an imploring look.

Corona raised her eyebrows slightly as though surprised, but his expression of genuine contrition softened her heart a little and rendered her answer perhaps a trifle less unkind than she had meant it to be.

“You should be satisfied—­since I keep your secret,” she said, and passed quickly out.

When Gouache turned after closing the door he was aware that Sant’ Ilario had been watching him, by the fixed way in which he was now looking in another direction.  The Zouave wished more and more fervently that he had not come to the house, but resolved to prolong his visit in the hope that Corona might return.  Sant’ Ilario was unaccountably silent, but his father kept up a lively conversation, needing only an occasional remark from Gouache to give a fillip to his eloquence.

This situation continued during nearly half an hour, at the end of which time Anastase gave up all hope of seeing Corona again.  The two men evidently did not expect her to return, for they had made themselves comfortable and had lighted their cigarettes.

“Good-bye, Monsieur Gouache,” said the old prince, cordially shaking him by the hand.  “I hope we shall see you back again alive and well in a few days.”

While he was speaking Giovanni had rung the bell for the servant to show the visitor out, an insignificant action, destined to produce a rather singular result.  Sant’ Ilario himself, feeling that after all he might never see Gouache alive again, repented a little of his coldness, and while the latter stood ready to go, detained him with a question as to his destination on leaving the city.  This resulted in a lively discussion of Garibaldi’s probable movements, which lasted several minutes.

Corona in the meantime had taken Orsino back to his nurse, and had bidden her maid let her know when the visitor in the drawing-room was gone.  The woman went to the hall, and when Giovanni rang the bell, returned to inform her mistress of the fact, supposing that Gouache would go at once.  Corona waited a few minutes, and then went back to the sitting-room, which was at the end of the long suite of apartments.  The result was that she met Anastase in one of the rooms on his way out, preceded by the footman, who went on towards the hall after his mistress had passed.  Corona and Gouache were left face to face and quite alone in the huge dim drawing-room.  Gouache had found his opportunity and did not hesitate.

“Madame,” he said, “I beg your pardon for trespassing on your time, but I have a serious word to say.  I am going to the frontier and am as likely to be killed as any one else.  On the faith of a man who may be dead to-morrow, I am wholly innocent of what happened last night.  If I come back I will prove it to you some day.  If not, will you believe me, and not think of me unkindly?”