Roma sat motionless and silent, watching with her own dilated eyes the

grinning sinner, as she poured out the story of the plot for her capture

and corruption. At that moment she hated her aunt, the unclean,

malignant, unpitying thing who had poisoned her heart against her father

and tried to break down every spiritual impulse of her soul.

The diabolical horse-laughter came again, and then the devil who had

loosened the tongue of the dying woman in the intoxication of the drug

made her reveal the worst secret of her tortured conscience.

"Why did I let him torment me? Because he knew something. It was about

the child. Didn't you know I had a child? It was born when my husband

was away. He was coming home, and I was in terror."

The red light was on the emaciated face. Roma was sitting in the shadow

with a roaring in her ears.

"It died, and I went to confession.... I thought nobody knew.... But the

Baron knows everything.... After that I did whatever he told me."

The thick voice stopped. Only the ticking of a little clock was audible.

The Countess had dozed off. All her vanity of vanities, her intrigues,

her life-long frenzies, her sins and sufferings were wrapt in the

innocence of sleep.

Roma looked down at the poor, wrinkled, rouged face, now streaked with

sweat and with black lines from the pencilled eyebrows, and noiselessly

rose to go. She was feeling a sense of guilt in herself that stirred her

to the depths of abasement.

The Countess awoke. She was again in pain, and her voice was now

different.

"Roma! Is that you?"

"Yes, aunt."

"Why are you sitting in the darkness? I have a horror of darkness. You

know that quite well."

Roma turned on the lights.

"Have I been speaking? What have I been saying?"

Roma tried to prevaricate.

"You are telling me a falsehood. You know you are. You gave me that drug

to make me tell you my secrets. But I know what I told you and it was

all a lie. You needn't think because you've been listening.... It was a

lie, I tell you...."

The Sister came back at that moment, and Roma went to her room. She did

not write her usual letter to David Rossi that night. Instead of doing

so, she knelt by Elena's little Madonna, which she had set up on a table

by her bed.

Her own secret was troubling her. She had wanted to take it to some one,

some woman, who would listen to her and comfort her. She had no mother,

and her tears had begun to fall.




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