“By all means,” replied San Giacinto.  “Dead men are poor company, and I am in a hurry”

The surgeon led the way to the accident ward and introduced his companion to a small clean room in which a shaded lamp was burning.  A Sister of Mercy stood by the white bed, upon which lay a young girl, stretched out at her full length.

“You are too late,” said the nun very quietly.  “She is dead, poor child.”

San Giacinto uttered a deep exclamation of horror and was at the bedside even before the surgeon.  He lifted the fair young creature in his arms and stared at the cold face, holding it to the light.  Then with a loud cry of astonishment he laid down his burden.

“It is not she, Signor Professore,” he said.  “I must apologise for the trouble I have given you.  Pray accept my best thanks.  There is a resemblance, but it is not she”

The doctor was somewhat relieved to find himself freed from the responsibility which, as San Giacinto had told him, involved the honour of one of the greatest families in Rome.  Before speaking, he satisfied himself that the young woman was really dead.

“Death often makes faces look alike which have no resemblance to each other in life,” he remarked as he turned away.  Then they both left the room, followed at a little distance by the sister who was going to summon the bearers to carry away her late charge.

As the two men descended the steps, the sound of loud voices in altercation reached their ears, and as they emerged into the vestibule, they saw old Prince Saracinesca flourishing his stick in dangerous proximity to the head of the porter.  The latter had retreated until he stood with his back against the wall.

“I will have none of this lying,” shouted the irate nobleman.  “The Marchese is here—­the gendarme told me he was in the mortuary chamber—­if he is not produced at once I will break your rascally neck—–­” The man was protesting as fast and as loud as his assailant threatened him.

“Eh!  My good cousin!” cried San Giacinto, whose unmistakable voice at once made the prince desist from his attack and turn round.  “Do not kill the fellow!  I am alive and well, as you see.”

A short explanation ensued, during which the surgeon was obliged to admit that as San Giacinto had no means of proving any identity he, the doctor in charge, had thought it best to send for the police, in view of the unquiet state of the city.

“But what brought you here?” asked old Saracinesca, who was puzzled to account for his cousin’s presence in the hospital.

San Giacinto had satisfied his curiosity and did not care a pin for the annoyance to which he had been subjected.  He was anxious, too, to get away, and having half guessed the surgeon’s suspicions was not at all surprised by the revelation concerning the gendarme.

“Allow me to thank you again,” he said politely, turning to the doctor.  “I have no doubt you acted quite rightly.  Let us go,” he added, addressing the prince.