The Baron twisted the ends of his moustache again.

"Besides," she said, "what benefit will it be to me if you put him on

trial for inciting the people to rebellion against the King? The public

will say it was for insulting yourself, and everybody will think he was

punished for telling the truth."

The Baron continued to twist the ends of his moustache.

"Benefit!" She laughed ironically. "It will be a double injury. The

insult will be repeated in public again and again. First the advocate

for the crown will read it aloud, then the advocate for the defence will

quote it, and then it will be discussed and dissected and telegraphed

until everybody in court knows it by heart and all Europe has heard of

it."

The Baron made no answer, but watched the beautiful face, now very pale,

behind which conflicting thoughts seemed to wriggle like a knot of

vipers. Suddenly she leaped up with a spring.

"I know!" she cried. "I know! I know! I know!"

"Well?"

"Give the man to me, and I will show you how to escape from this

humiliating situation."

"Roma?" said the Baron, but he had read her thought already.

"If you punish him for this speech you will injure both of us and do no

good to the King."

"It's true."

"Take him in a serious conspiracy, and you will be doing us no harm and

the King some service."

"No doubt."

"You say there is a mystery about David Rossi, and you want to know who

he is, who his father was, and where he spent the years he was away from

Rome."

"I would certainly give a good deal to know."

"You want to know what vile refugee in London filled him with his

fancies, what conspiracies he is hatching, what secret societies he

belongs to, and, above all, what his plans and schemes are, and whether

he is in league with the Vatican."

She spoke so rapidly that the words sputtered out of her quivering lips.

"Well?"

"Well, I will find it all out for you."

"My dear Roma!"

"Leave him to me, and within a month you shall know"--she laughed, a

little ashamed--"the inmost secrets of his soul."

She was walking to and fro again, to prevent the Baron from looking into

her face, which was now red over its white, like a rose moon in a stormy

sky.




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