The cradle was in the centre of the room, between four lighted candles and draped with white. My brother was seated on one side, Giovanni di Scordio on the other, holding the vigil. The old man's presence caused me no surprise. It seemed to me natural that he should be there. I asked nothing; I said nothing. I believe that I smiled faintly at them when they looked at me. I do not know if my lips really smiled; but I had intended they should, as if to say: "Do not grieve about me, do not try to console me; you see I am calm. We must be resigned."
I made several steps; I went and placed myself at the foot of the cradle between the two candles. To the foot of this cradle I bore a fearful, humble, feeble soul, totally freed from its previous passions. My brother and the old man had not left their places; and yet I felt alone.
The little dead body was clothed in white: in the same robe in which it was baptized, it seemed to me. Only the face and the hands were uncovered. The little mouth, whose wailings had so often aroused my hate, was now motionless beneath a mysterious seal. The silence that reigned over this mouth also reigned in me, reigned about me. And I looked, looked.
Then, in the silence, there arose a great light in the centre of my soul. I understood. That which neither my brother's words nor the old man's smile had been sufficient to reveal to me, the little dumb mouth of the Innocent revealed to me in a second. I understood. And then I was assailed by a terrible desire to confess my crime, to publish my secret, to declare in the presence of those two men: "It was I who assassinated him!"
They both looked at me; and I perceived that they were both uneasy concerning me and my attitude before the corpse, that they were both waiting with anguish the end of my silence. Then I said:
"Do you know who killed this innocent?"
In the silence my voice was so strangely sonorous that it was unrecognizable to me; it seemed to me that that voice was not my own. And a sudden terror froze my blood, stiffened my tongue, clouded my sight. And I began to tremble. And I felt that my brother was supporting me, was holding my head. In my ears was such a strong buzzing that his words reached me indistinctly, in fragments. I understood that he thought my mind was deranged by a violent attack of fever and that he was trying to lead me out. I let him take me away.
He led me to my room, supporting me. Terror still controlled me. At the sight of a single candle that was burning on the table, I shuddered; I could not remember having left it lit.
"Undress yourself and go to bed," said Federico to me, stroking me with his hands tenderly.
He made me sit down on my bed and felt my forehead again.