While the press was ringing his praises, and he himself was preparing a carefully written paper on the two statues, while the public was pouring into the gate of the Palazzo Conti to see them, and Volterra was driving a hard bargain with the government for their sale, he lived in a state of anxiety and nervousness impossible to describe.  He was haunted by the fear that some one might find out where Sabina had been on the night after she had left Volterra’s house, and the mere thought of such a possibility was real torment, worse than the knowledge that he could never marry her, and that without her his life did not seem worth living.  Whatever happened to Sabina would be the result of his folly in taking her to the vaults.  He might recover from any wound he had himself received, but to see the good name of the innocent girl he loved utterly ruined and dragged through the mud of newspaper scandal would be a good deal worse than being flayed alive.  It was horrible to think of it, and yet he could not keep it out of his thoughts.  There had been too many people about the palace on the morning when Sabina had left it with the Baroness.  Especially, there had been that carpenter, of whom no one had thought till it was too late.  If Gigi had recognized Sabina, that would be Malipieri’s fault too, for Volterra had not known that the man had been employed about the house for years.  A week passed, and nothing happened.  He had neither seen Sabina nor heard of her from any one.  He was besieged by journalists, artists, men of letters and men of learning, and the municipal authorities had declared their intention of giving a banquet in his honour and Volterra’s, to celebrate the safe removal of the two statues from the vault in which they had lain so long.  He, who hated noisy feasting and speech-making above all things, could not refuse the public invitation.  All sorts of people came to see him, in connection with the whole affair, and he was at last obliged to shut himself in during several hours of the day, in order to work at his dissertation.  Masin alone was free to reach him in case of any urgent necessity.

One morning, while he was writing, surrounded by books, drawings and papers, Masin came and stood silently at his elbow, waiting till it should please him to look up.  Malipieri carefully finished the sentence he had begun, and laid down his pen.  Then Masin spoke.

“There is a lady downstairs, sir, who says that you will certainly receive her upon very important business.  She would not give her name, but told the porter to try and get me to hand you this note.”

Malipieri sighed wearily and opened the note without even glancing at the address.  He knew that Sabina would not write to him, and no one else interested him in the least.  But he looked at the signature before reading the lines, and his expression changed.  The dowager Princess Conti wrote a few words to say that she must see him at once and was waiting.  That was all, but his heart sank.  He sent Masin to show her the way, and sat resting his forehead in his hand until she appeared.