Settimia's eyes seemed to be starting from her head, and her dry lips were stretched till they cracked, and she thought she had screamed again; but she had not, for her throat was paralysed with fear. Regina rose upon her knees beside the pillow, with the pin in her right hand.
"Where is Corbario?" she asked, looking down. "If you will not tell I shall hurt you."
Settimia's lips moved, as if she were trying to speak, but no words came from them. Regina got up from the floor, went to the washstand and poured some water into the glass, for she thought it possible that the woman was really unable to utter a sound because her throat was parched with fear. But she could speak a little as soon as Regina left her side, and the last peril seemed a few seconds less near.
"For the love of God, don't kill me yet," she moaned. "Let me speak first!"
Regina came back, knelt down, and set the glass on the floor, beside the pin.
"That is all I want," she said quietly, "that you should speak."
"Water," moaned Settimia, turning her eyes to the glass.
Regina held up her head a little and set the tumbler to her lips, and she drank eagerly. The fear of death is more parching than wound-fever or passion.
"Now you can surely talk a little," Regina said.
"Why do you wish to know where he is?" Settimia asked in a weak voice. "Are the police looking for him? What has he done? Why do you want me to betray him?"