'Are you his mother, madam?' asked the sister, in a whisper.
'No!' Corona's great eyes blazed upon the nun's face. Then she spoke gently again. 'I am the mother of the priest he falsely accused. Before he dies he must tell the truth.'
A faint smile moved the wasted lips, and the lids slowly opened. Then he spoke, almost naturally.
'You have come to see me die. I understand.'
'No,' said Corona, speaking clearly and distinctly. 'I have come to hear the truth about my son, from your own lips, as I know it from others—'
The yellow face shivered and the eyes stared. There was a convulsive effort of the head to rise from the pillow.
'Who told you?' The question gurgled in the throat.
'Your sister told me—'
'I have no sister.' The head fell back again, and the twisting smile took possession of the lips.
'Vittoria is your sister. You are Tebaldo Pagliuca.' Corona bent down towards him anxiously, for she feared that he was wandering, and that the truth must escape her at last.