“Pray let it be so.  My motives can be of no importance.  The law shall judge the facts and give its verdict.”

“The law will certainly do so.  In the meantime, you will spend the day in a room of my apartments, and this evening, when it is dark, you will be quietly transferred to a place of safety—­and secrecy.  If the real murderer is ever found, I do not wish your life to have been ruined by such a piece of folly as I believe you are committing.  You say you are a desperate man, and you are acting, I think, as though you were.  Your family affairs may have led to this state, but they do not concern me.  You will, however, be good enough to swear, here, solemnly, laying your hand upon this book, that you will not attempt to destroy yourself.”

“I swear,” said Giovanni, touching the volume which the cardinal presented to him.

“Very good.  Now follow me, if you please, to the room where you must spend the day.”

Giovanni found himself in a small chamber which contained only a large writing-table and a couple of chairs, and which seemed to have been destined for some sort of office.  The cardinal closed the door, and Giovanni heard him turn the key and remove it from the lock.  Then, for the first time, he reflected upon what he had done.  He had spoken the truth when he had said that he was desperate.  No other word could describe his state.  A sort of madness had taken possession of him while he was talking with Corona, and he was still under its influence.  There had been something in her manner which had seemed to imply that he was not doing his best to liberate Faustina, and indeed, when he remembered that the girl’s innocence was by no means clear to him, he ought not to have been surprised at Corona’s imputation.  And yet, he had now pledged his word to the cardinal that Faustina had not done the deed.  Corona’s unwillingness to admit that it was for her own sake she asked his help had driven him nearly out of his mind, and when she had at last said it, even reluctantly, he had immediately resolved to show her what he was willing to do for one word of hers when she chose to speak it.  He had from that moment but one thought, to free Faustina at any cost, and no plan suggested itself to him but to surrender himself in the girl’s place.  As a matter of fact, he could not have accomplished his purpose so quickly or surely in any other way, and perhaps he could not have otherwise accomplished it at all.  It had been quite clear to him from the first that the cardinal was prejudiced against Faustina, owing, no doubt, to the representations of the prefect of police.  Giovanni had carried the evidence against her clearly in his mind, and as soon as he thought of the expedient he saw how it would have been quite possible for himself, or for any other man who knew the house, to commit the murder.  As for the detail concerning the doors being open, there was nothing improbable in it, seeing that there were many servants in the establishment,