"I was going out," answered the child. Her voice shook. She was clothed as usual in the daytime, but she had over her head a woollen wrapper. She had not her musket, for she kept it in the hen-house, and was accustomed to take it as she passed that place.
"Going out! At the fourth hour of the night? Is that an answer for a decent maiden?"
Nernia was silent.
"Go back to your room, and I will lock you in it; in the morning you will account to me."
Nernia recovered her self-possession, though she trembled still.
"Pardon me, Madama Clelia," she said humbly, "I must go out."
She did not look ashamed, and her small brown face had a resolute expression.
A great anguish seized and wrung the heart of Clelia Alba. She knew that Adone was not in the house, Did he, the soul of purity and honour, seduce a girl who dwelt under his own roof? — carry on an intrigue with a little beggar, to his own shame and the outrage of his mother? Was this the true cause of his frequent absence, his many nights abroad? Her dark brows contracted, her black eyes blazed.
"Go to your room, wanton!" she said in tones of thunder. "In the morning you will answer to me."
But Nernia, who had before this slipped the bolt aside, and who always kept her grasp upon the great key in the lock, suddenly turned it, pushed the oak door open, and before the elder woman was conscious of what she was doing, had dashed out into the air, and slammed the door behind her. The rush of wind had blown out the lamp in Clelia Alba's hand.