“Stay, Signora, stay; you go too fast—­somewhat too fast.  Unhappily, I am by no means in a condition to say that your young friend is innocent of this crime; appearances, it must be admitted, are very much against her; we must hope that they can be explained.  I accuse no one; it is not my province to do so.”

“But you don’t think the judges will believe that my child could have done such a thing?  If they only knew her!  You don’t think that, do you, Signor Dottore?” said the poor woman, with a voice and manner of piteous appeal.

“They will judge according to the evidence and the probabilities of the case.  It is impossible to say as yet to what conclusion these may seem to point.  The Marchese Ludovico is an acquaintance of yours and of the Signorina Paolina, is he not?”

“An acquaintance? why they are engaged to be married,” almost shrieked poor Signora Orsola; “has not your lordship heard that they are engaged to be married?”

“Indeed! and you are acquainted with the Contessa Violante too.  Do you know whether her ladyship is aware of the engagement you speak of?  I ask, because she is an old friend of the Marchese Ludovico.”

“To be sure she is aware of it.  She and Paolina have often talked it over together.  Altro che, aware of it.”

“Humph,” said the lawyer thoughtfully; and then remained silent for a minute or two, while old Orsola looked at him wistfully.

“It must be very terrible to you then, Signora, to think that the Marchese should be suspected of this shocking crime, since you have such reason to feel an interest in him,” said he at last, looking up suddenly at his companion.

“Lord bless your heart,” exclaimed the old woman in reply; “the Marchese never did nothing of the sort, no more than my poor innocent lamb did it.  Nothing of the kind.”

“Perhaps, then, you would not mind saying who did do it,” said the lawyer; “since you seem to know all about it.”

“Why she did it herself to be sure.  It is a wonder anybody should doubt it.  And a like enough end for such a baggage to come to,” said Signora Orsola, with much bitterness.

“You do not seem to have been among the admirers of the Signora Bianca,” said the lawyer, with a furtively shrewd look at the old woman.

“Admirers, indeed!  She had too many admirers, I am thinking.  A good-for-nothing, impudent, brazen—­well, she has gone to her account, so I won’t be the one to speak ill of her.”

“You seem to have had considerable opportunities of becoming acquainted with her character, Signora Orsola.  Had you much acquaintance with her?”

“I never saw her but once in my life, and that was at the theatre on the last Sunday night of Carnival.  The Marchese had given us a box.”

“And it was upon that occasion then, that she impressed you so unfavourably.  The Signorina Paolina I suppose was with you at the theatre?”