The magistrate received him with grave courtesy, saying that he was glad the Signor Marchese had presented himself in order to throw what light he could on this sad affair, as rumour had already reached his (the magistrate’s) ears mixing the name of the Marchese Ludovico with the subject in a manner that would have made it his duty to call the Marchese, had he not of himself judged it right to anticipate the action of justice in the matter.

Then Ludovico related clearly and shortly how the excursion to the Pineta had been imagined and planned between him and Bianca at the ball; how they had put their plan into execution; how he had left her sleeping in the forest; and had been unable to find her again; how he had returned, after spending much time in fruitless seeking, and had shortly afterwards, being then in the company of Signor Giovacchino Fortini, seen the dead body of the unfortunate lady brought into the city by men who had discovered it in the forest.

The magistrate listened attentively to this history in silence, save that he once or twice interrupted Ludovico to ask at what o’clock it had been that the different incidents happened.  Then he reduced the whole statement to writing, and read it over to the Marchesino.

“Your lordship parted then from Signor Fortini, after witnessing in his company the arrival of the corpse at the gate, nearly an hour ago.  You did not come to make your report to us here at once?  I must ask you how you have employed the interval?” said the magistrate shooting a sharp glance from under his black eyebrows at Ludovico, who was sitting opposite to him, with a little table between them, on which there were writing-materials.

“In visiting a lady, to whom I was very anxious to tell these unfortunate circumstances myself, instead of allowing them to come to her ears in any other manner,” answered Ludovico simply.

“The lady’s name?  I ask in confidence, you know; unless of course the fact should turn out to have any bearing on the discovery of the truth as to this most unhappy business.”

“The lady is the Signorina Paolina Foscarelli, a Venetian artist sent here to make copies of some of our mosaics, and recommended to my uncle the Marchese Lamberto.”

“With whom you had no acquaintance previous to her bringing that recommendation?”

“None whatever.”

“But since that time you have become intimate with her?”

“It is true.”

“Signor Marchese, this is a most lamentable and unhappy affair.  It is my duty to point out to you, what doubtless your own good sense has already suggested to you—­that the mere facts, as you have related them to me, place you in a very unfortunate position.  But most unhappily—­it is exceedingly painful to me to have to say it—­ there is, if what has already reached my ears be true, worse, much worse behind.  I am obliged to ask you what conversation, of a special nature, passed between you and Bianca Lalli during your excursion?”