She fixed her eyes sternly on Settimia's, and the woman turned livid, and ground her teeth.
"You are the devil!" she said hoarsely. "But it is all a lie!" she cried, suddenly trying denial again. "I was never in South America, never, never, never!"
"This is a lie," observed Regina, with perfect calm. "If you do not tell me where Signor Corbario is to-night, I shall go to the police to-morrow and tell all I know about you."
"You know nothing. What is all this that you are inventing? You are a wicked woman!"
"Take care! Perhaps I am a wicked woman. Who knows! I am not a saint, but you are not my confessor. It is the contrary, perhaps; and perhaps you will have to confess to me this night, before going to the other world, if you confess at all. Where is Signor Corbario?"
As she asked the question, she quietly took the long pin from her hair and began to play with the point.
"Are you going to murder me?" groaned the wretched woman, watching the terrible little weapon.
"I should not call it murder to kill you. This point is sharp. Should you like to feel it? You shall. In this way you will perhaps be persuaded to speak."
She gently pressed the point against Settimia's cheek.
"Don't move, or you will scratch yourself," she said, as the woman tried to draw back her face. "Now, will you tell me where Signor Corbario is? I want to know."