The three men sat down and waited in silence after the detective had last spoken.  Volterra lit a fresh cigar, and offered one to the detective a few moments later.  The latter took it with a bow and put it into his pocket for a future occasion.

The door opened at last, and the Baroness entered, her face discoloured to a blotchy yellowness by her suppressed anger.  She stood still a moment after she had come in, and glared at Malipieri.  He and the detective rose, but Volterra kept his seat.

“Were you right, my dear?” the latter enquired, looking at her.

“Yes,” she answered in a thick voice, turning to him for an instant, and then glaring at Malipieri again, as if she could hardly keep her hands from him in her righteous anger.

He saw clearly enough that she had not believed the strange story which Sabina must have told her, and he wondered whether any earthly power could possibly make her believe it in spite of herself.  During the moments of silence that followed, the whole situation rose before him, in the only light under which it could at first appear to any ordinary person.  It was frightful to think that what had been a bit of romantic quixotism on his part, in wishing Sabina to see the statues which should have been hers, should end in her social disgrace, perhaps in her utter ruin if the Baroness and her husband could not be mollified.  He did not know that there was one point in Sabina’s favour, in the shape of the Princess’s sudden return to Rome, though he guessed the Baroness’s character well enough to have foreseen, had he known of the new complication, that she would swallow her pride and even overlook Sabina’s supposed misdeeds, rather than allow the Princess to accuse her of betraying her trust and letting the young girl ruin herself.

“I must consult with you,” the Baroness said to her husband, controlling herself as she came forward into the room and passed Malipieri.  “We cannot talk here,” she added, glancing at the detective.

“This gentleman,” said Volterra, waving his hand towards the latter, “is here officially, to make an enquiry about Sassi’s accident.”

“I shall be happy to wait outside if you have private matters to discuss,” said the detective, who wished to show himself worthy of the Baron’s favour, if he could do so without neglecting his duties.

“You are extremely obliging,” Volterra said, in a friendly tone.

The detective smiled, bowed and left the room by the door leading towards the hall.

“It seems to me,” the Baroness said, still suppressing her anger, as she turned her face a little towards Malipieri and spoke at him over her shoulder, “it seems to me that you might go too.”

It was not for Malipieri to resent her tone or words just then, and he knew it, though he hated her for believing the evidence of her senses rather than Sabina’s story.  He made a step towards the door.