"You scoundrel!" he said. "You've succeeded, you've separated us, but I

understand you perfectly. You have used this unhappy lady's shame to

compel her to carry out your infamous designs, and now that she is done

with, she must lose the man who played with her as well as the man she

has played with."

Roma saw that the Baron was feeling for something in the side pocket of

his overcoat, and she called to Rossi to warn him.

"One doesn't quarrel with an escaped criminal," said the Baron. "It is

sufficient to call the police ... Police!" he cried, lifting his voice

and taking a step forward.

Rossi stood between the Baron and the door.

"Don't stir," he said. "Don't utter a word, I warn you. I'm a hunted dog

to-night, and a hunted dog is dangerous."

"Let me pass," said the Baron.

"Not yet, sir," said Rossi. "You have something to do before you go. You

have to go down on your knees and beg the pardon of your victim...."

Roma saw the Baron draw the revolver. She saw Rossi spring upon him, and

seize him by the collar of the Annunziata which hung over his shirt

front. She saw the men go struggling through the door of the

sitting-room into the dining-room. She covered her ears with her hands

to shut out the sounds from the outer chamber, but she heard Rossi's

hoarse voice that was like the growl of a wild beast. Then came the

deafening report of a pistol-shot, then the vibration of a heavy fall,

and then dead silence.

Roma was still standing with her hands over her ears, shaking with

terror and scarcely able to breathe, when footsteps resounded on the

floor behind her. Giddy and dazed, with one agonising thought she

turned, saw Rossi, and uttered a cry of relief. But he was coming down

on her with great staring eyes, and the look of a desperate maniac. For

one moment he stood over her in his ungovernable rage, and scalding and

blistering words poured out of him in a torrent.

"He's dead. D'you hear me? He's dead. But it's as much your work as

mine, and you will never think of yourself henceforward without remorse

and horror. I curse you by the love you've wronged and the heart you've

broken. I curse you by the hopes you wasted and the truth you've

outraged. I curse you by the memory of your father, the memory of a

saint and martyr."

Before his last words were spoken Roma had ceased to hear. With a feeble

moan, interrupted by a faint cry, she had slowly retreated before him,

and then fallen face downwards. Everything about her, Rossi, herself,

the room, the lamp on the table and the shadows cast by it, had mingled

and blended, and gone out in a complete obscurity.




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