"How stupid of me! It would be Sunday when my letter reached London." She had not counted on the postal arrangements of the English Sabbath. One day more, only one, and she would hear from Rossi and be happy.
But one day went by, then another and another, and still no letter came. Her big heart began to fail and the rainbow in the sky of her life to pale away. The singing of the birds on the roof pained her now. How could they crack their little throats like that? It was raining and the sky was dark.
Then the Garibaldian and his old wife came upstairs with scared looks and with papers in their hands. They were summoned to give evidence at Bruno's trial. It was to take place in three days.
"Well, I'm deaf, praise the saints! and they can't make much of me," said the old woman.
Roma put on her simple black straw hat with a quill through it and set off for the office of the lawyer, Napoleon Fuselli.
"Just writing to you, dear lady," said the great man, dropping back in his chair. "Sorry to say my labour has been in vain. It is useless to go further. Our man has confessed."
"Confessed?" Roma clutched at the lapel of her coat.
"Confessed, and denounced his accomplices."
"His accomplices?"
"Rossi in particular, whom he has implicated in a serious conspiracy."