There was silence for a few seconds, during which Giovanni could hear his heart beat loudly and irregularly.
"If I could but move you a little!" he said at last, almost inaudibly.
"If I could do anything, suffer anything for you—"
She shook her head sorrowfully and then, as though afraid that she had given him pain, she took his hand and pressed it affectionately—affectionately, not lovingly. It was as cold as ice. He sighed and once more turned away. Just then the door opened, and old Pasquale appeared, his face pale with fright.
"Eccellenza, a note, and the man says that Prince Montevarchi has just been murdered, and that the note is from Donna Faustina, and the police are in the Palazzo Montevarchi, and that the poor princess is dying, and—"
Corona had risen quickly with a cry of astonishment. Giovanni had taken the letter and stood staring at the servant as though he believed that the man was mad. Then he glanced at the address and saw that it was for his wife.
"Faustina is accused of the murder!" she exclaimed. "I must go to her at once. The carriage, Pasquale, instantly!"
"Faustina Montevarchi—killed her own father!" cried Giovanni in the utmost astonishment.
Corona thrust the note into his hands. It only contained a few words scrawled in an irregular hand as though written in great emotion.
"Of course it is some horrible mistake," said Corona, "but I must go at once."
"I will go with you. I may be able to give some help."