'There is none to make,' answered Corona. 'You have done nothing—' She paused, not understanding.
'You shall see. Will you sit down? It may take some time to explain—or, rather, to read. There is only one question which I must ask you first. Has Don Ippolito been acquitted or not?'
Corona's face darkened.
'He has not,' she answered. 'He is at liberty on San Giacinto's security.'
'Here are the proofs of his innocence,' said Vittoria, simply, as she produced her package and laid it on Corona's lap.
Corona opened her eyes in surprise, and her expression changed.
'My brother Tebaldo did it,' continued Vittoria. 'He forced your son, as a priest, to hear his confession, because Don Ippolito surprised him in the church. Then he accused him of the murder, knowing that he would keep the secret.'
Corona stared, realised what the girl meant, and suddenly grasped her wrist, looking into her face. She saw the truth there, but Vittoria understood the doubt.
'When you have read, you will understand better,' said the young girl, pointing to the package.
Corona said nothing, but her fingers were quick to find the letter. Vittoria rose softly and went to the window and looked out. Her hands rested on the cold stone sill and twitched nervously from time to time, but she would not turn round. She knew that what was shame and horror to her, was the joy of heaven to the mother of the accused man. Corona read in silence, intently, quickly, almost desperately.