At the word “foolish,” Vanina pinched the prince with all her might.
“I want,” she said, “to see the official papers myself, and go into your uncle’s study with you; you have most likely read them wrong.”
At these words Don Livio shuddered; Vanina was demanding a thing almost impossible; but the young woman’s strange genius redoubled his love. A day or two later Vanina, disguised as a man and wearing a pretty little coat of the Savelli livery, was able to spend half an hour amidst the police minister’s most secret papers. She felt a thrill of the keenest delight when she discovered the daily report on “Pietro Missirilli, prisoner awaiting trial.” Her hands trembled as she held the paper. As she read that name she was on the point of being overcome. When they went out from the governor of Rome’s palace Vanina permitted Don Livio to embrace her.
“You are coming well out of the tests to which I am submitting you,” she said.
After a speech like that the young prince would have set fire to the Vatican to please Vanina. That evening there was a ball at the French ambassador’s; she danced a great deal, and almost always with Don Livio. He was intoxicated with happiness; she must not allow him to reflect.
“My father is sometimes strange,” Vanina said to him one day. “This morning he dismissed two of his servants, who came to tell me their sorrows. One of them has asked a place with your uncle, the governor of Rome; the other, who has been an artilleryman with the French, would like to be employed in the castle of Sant’ Angelo.”
“I’ll take them both into my service,” said the young prince briskly.
“Is that what I asked you?” Vanina replied proudly. “I repeated those poor fellows’ petitions word for word; they ought to get what they asked, and not something else.”
There was nothing more difficult. Monsignore Catanzara was anything but an imprudent man, and only admitted servants into his house who were well known to him. In the midst of a life apparently full of all manner of pleasures, Vanina, tormented by remorse, was very unhappy. The slowness of events was killing her. Her father’s man of business had procured money for her. Ought she to flee from her father’s house and go to Romagna, and attempt to get her lover out of prison? Senseless as this notion was she was on the point of carrying it into execution when chance took pity on her.
Don Livio said to her: