CHAPTER V.
Gouache made his way as fast as he could to the bridge of Sant' Angelo,but his progress was constantly impeded by moving crowds--bodies ofmen, women, and children rushing frantically together at the corners ofthe streets and then surging onward in the direction of the resultantproduced by their combined forces in the shock. There was loud andincoherent screaming of women and shouting of men, out of whichoccasionally a few words could be distinguished, more often "Viva PioNono!" or "Viva la Repubblica!" than anything else. The scene ofconfusion baffled description. A company of infantry was filing out ofthe castle of Sant' Angelo on to the bridge, where it was met by adense multitude of people coming from the opposite direction. Asquadron of mounted gendarmes came up from the Borgo Nuovo at the samemoment, and half a dozen cabs were jammed in between the opposingmasses of the soldiers and the people. The officer at the head of thecolumn of foot-soldiers loudly urged the crowd to make way, and thelatter, consisting chiefly of peaceable but terrified citizens,attempted to draw back, while the weight of those behind pushed themon. Gouache, who was in the front of the throng, was allowed to enterthe file of infantry, in virtue of his uniform, and attempted to getthrough and make his way to the opposite bank. But with the bestefforts he soon found himself unable to move, the soldiers being wedgedtogether as tightly as the people. Presently the crowd in the piazzaseemed to give way and the column began to advance again, bearingGouache backwards in the direction he had come. He managed to get tothe parapet, however, by edging sideways through the packed ranks.
"Give me your shoulder, comrade!" he shouted to the man next to him.The fellow braced himself, and in an instant the agile Zouave was onthe narrow parapet, running along as nimbly as a cat, and windinghimself past the huge statues at every half-dozen steps. He jumped downat the other end and ran for the Borgo Santo Spirito at the top of hisspeed. The broad space was almost deserted and in three minutes he wasbefore the gates of the barracks, which were situated on the right-handside of the street, just beyond the College of the Penitentiaries andopposite the church of San Spirito in Sassia.
Meanwhile Donna Faustina Montevarchi was alone in the streets. Indesperate emergencies young and nervously-organised people mostcommonly act in accordance with the dictates of the predominant passionby which they are influenced. Very generally that passion is terror,but when it is not, it is almost impossible to calculate theconsequences which may follow. When the whole being is dominated bylove and by the greatest anxiety for the safety of the person loved,the weakest woman will do deeds which might make a brave man blush forhis courage. This was precisely Faustina's case.
If any man says that he understands women he is convicted of folly byhis own speech, seeing that they are altogether incomprehensible. Ofmen, it may be sufficient for general purposes to say with David thatthey are all liars, even though we allow that they may be all curableof the vice of falsehood. Of women, however, there is no generalstatement which is true. The one is brave to heroism, the next cowardlyin a degree fantastically comic. The one is honest, the otherfaithless; the one contemptible in her narrowness of soul, the nextsupremely noble in broad truth as the angels in heaven; the onetrustful, the other suspicious; this one gentle as a dove, that onegrasping and venomous as a strong serpent. The hearts of women are asthe streets of a great town--some broad and straight and clean; somedim and narrow and winding; or as the edifices and buildings of thatsame city, wherein there are holy temples, at which men worship in calmand peace, and dens where men gamble away the souls given them by Godagainst the living death they call pleasure, which is doled out to themby the devil; in which there are quiet dwellings, and noisy places ofpublic gathering, fair palaces and loathsome charnel-houses, where thedead are heaped together, even as our dead sins lie ghastly andunburied in that dark chamber of the soul, whose gates open of theirown selves and shall not be sealed while there is life in us to suffer.Dost thou boast that thou knowest the heart of woman? Go to, thou morethan fool! The heart of woman containeth all things, good and evil; andknowest thou then all that is?
Donna Faustina was no angel. She had not that lofty calmness which weattribute to the angelic character. She was very young, utterlyinexperienced and ignorant of the world. The idea which over-towers allother ideas was the first which had taken hold upon her, and under itsstrength she was like a flower before the wind. She was not naturallyof the heroic type either, as Corona d'Astrardente had been, andperhaps was still, capable of sacrifice for the ideal of duty, able tosuffer torment rather than debase herself by yielding, strong to stemthe torrent of a great passion until she had the right to abandonherself to its mighty flood. Faustina was a younger and a gentlerwoman, not knowing what she did from the moment her heart began todictate her actions, willing, above all, to take the suggestion of hersoul as a command, and, because she knew no evil, rejoicing in anabandonment which might well have terrified one who knew the world.
She already loved Anastase intensely. Under the circumstances of hisfarewell, the startling effect of the announcement of a revolution, thenecessity under which, as a soldier, he found himself of leaving herinstantly in order to face a real danger, with his first kiss warm uponher lips, and with the frightful conviction that if he left her itmight be the last--under all the emotions brought about by thesethings, half mad with love and anxiety, it was not altogether wonderfulthat she acted as she did. She could not have explained it, for theimpulse was so instinctive that she did not comprehend it, and the deedfollowed so quickly upon the thought that there was no time forreflection. She fled from the room and from the palace, out into thestreet, wholly unconscious of danger, like a creature in a dream.
The crowd which had impeded Gouache's progress was already thinningwhen Faustina reached the pavement. She was born and bred in Rome, andas a child, before the convent days, had been taken to walk many a timein the neighbourhood of Saint Peter's. She knew well enough where theSerristori barracks were situated, and turned at once towards Sant'Angelo. There were still many people about, most of them eitherhurrying in the direction whence the departing uproar still proceeded,or running homewards to get out of danger. Few noticed her, and forsome time no one hindered her progress, though it was a strange sightto see a fair young girl, dressed in the fashion of the time which socompletely distinguished her from Roman women of lower station, runningat breathless speed through the dusky streets.
Suddenly she lost her way. Coming down the Via de' Coronari she turnedtoo soon to the right and found herself in the confusing byways whichform a small labyrinth around the church of San Salvatore in Lauro. Shehad entered a blind alley on the left when she ran against two men, whounexpectedly emerged from one of those underground wine-shops which arenumerous in that neighbourhood. They were talking in low and earnesttones, and one of them staggered backward as the young girl rushed uponhim in the dark. Instinctively the man grasped her and held her tightlyby the arms.
"Where are you running to, my beauty?" he asked, as she struggled toget away.
"Oh, let me go! let me go!" she cried in agonised tones, twisting herslender wrists in his firm grip. The other man stood by, watching thescene.
"Better let her go, Peppino," he said. "Don't you see she is a lady?"
"A lady, eh?" echoed the other. "Where are you going to, with thatangel's face?"
"To the Serristori barrack," answered Faustina, still struggling withall her might.
At this announcement both men laughed loudly and glanced quickly ateach other. They seemed to think the answer a very good joke.
"If that is all, you may go, and the devil accompany you. What say you,Gaetano?" Then they laughed again.
"Take that chain and brooch as a ricordo--just for a souvenir," saidGaetano, who then himself tore off the ornaments while the other heldFaustina's hands.
"You are a pretty girl indeed!" he cried, looking at her pale face inthe light of the filthy little red lamp that hung over the low door ofthe wine-shop. "I never kissed a lady in my life."
With that he grasped her delicate chin in his foul hand and bent down,bringing his grimy face close to hers. But this was too much. ThoughFaustina had hitherto fought with all her natural strength against theruffians, there was a reserved force, almost superhuman, in her slightframe, which was suddenly roused by the threatened outrage. With apiercing shriek she sprang backwards and dashed herself free, sendingthe two blackguards reeling into the darkness. Then, like a flash shewas gone. By chance she took the right turning and in a moment morefound herself in the Via di Tordinona, just opposite the entrance ofthe Apollo theatre. The torn white handbills on the wall, and theprojecting shed over the doors told her where she was.
By this time the soldiers who had intercepted Gouache's passage acrossthe bridge, as well as the dense crowd, had disappeared, and Faustinaran like the wind along the pavement it had taken the soldier so longto traverse. Like a flitting bird she sped over the broad space beyondand up the Borgo Nuovo, past the long low hospital, wherein the sickand dying lay in their silence, tended by the patient Sisters of Mercy,while all was in excitement without. The young girl ran past thecorner. A Zouave was running before her towards the gate of the barrackwhere a sentinel stood motionless under the lamp, his gray hood drawnover his head and his rifle erect by his shoulder.
At that instant a terrific explosion rent the air, followed a momentlater by the dull crash of falling fragments of masonry, and then by along thundering, rumbling sound, dreadful to hear, which lasted severalminutes, as the ruins continued to fall in, heaps upon heaps, sendingimmense clouds of thick dust up into the night air. Then all was still.
The little piazza before San Spirito in Sassia was half filled withmasses of stone and brickwork and crumbling mortar. A young girl laymotionless upon her face at the corner of the hospital, her white handsstretched out towards the man who lay dead but a few feet before her,crushed under a great irregular mound of stones and rubbish. Beneaththe central heap where the barracks had stood lay the bodies of thepoor Zouaves, deep buried in wreck of the main building, the greaterpart of which had fallen across the side street that passes between thePenitenzieri and the Serristori. All was still for many minutes, whilethe soft light streamed from the high windows of the hospital andfaintly illuminated some portion of the hideous scene.
Very slowly a few stragglers came in sight, then more, and then bydegrees a great dark crowd of awestruck people were collected togetherand stood afar off, fearing to come near, lest the ruins should stillcontinue falling. Presently the door of the hospital opened and a partyof men in gray blouses, headed by three or four gentlemen in blackcoats--one indeed was in his shirt sleeves--emerged into the silentstreet and went straight towards the scene of the disaster. Theycarried lanterns and a couple of stretchers such as are used forbearing the wounded. It chanced that the straight line they followedfrom the door did not lead them to where the girl was lying, and it wasnot until after a long and nearly fruitless search that they turnedback. Two soldiers only, and both dead, could they find to bring back.The rest were buried far beneath, and it would be the work of manyhours to extricate the bodies, even with a large force of men.
As the little procession turned sadly back, they found that the crowdhad advanced cautiously forward and now filled the street. In theforemost rank a little circle stood about a dark object that lay on theground, curious, but too timid to touch it.
"Signor Professore," said one man in a low voice, "there is a deadwoman."
The physicians came forward and bent over the body. One of them shookhis head, as the bright light of the lantern fell on her face while heraised the girl from the ground.
"She is a lady," said one of the others in a low voice.
The men brought a stretcher and lifted the girl's body gently from theground, scarcely daring to touch her, and gazing anxiously but yet inwonder at the white face.
When she was laid upon the coarse canvas there was a moment's pause.The crowd pressed closely about the hospital men, and the yellow lightof the lanterns was reflected on many strange faces, all bent eagerlyforward and down to get a last sight of the dead girl's features.
"Andiamo," said one of the physicians in a quiet sad voice. The bearerstook up the dead Zouaves again, the procession of death entered thegates of the hospital, and the heavy doors closed behind like theportals of a tomb.
The crowd closed again and pressed forward to the ruins. A fewgendarmes had come up, and very soon a party of labourers was at workclearing away the lighter rubbish under the lurid glare of pitchtorches stuck into the crevices and cracks of the rent walls. Thedevilish deed was done, but by a providential accident its consequenceshad been less awful than might have been anticipated. Only one-third ofthe mine had actually exploded, and only thirty Zouaves were at thetime within the building.
"Did you see her face, Gaetano?" asked a rough fellow of his companion.They stood together in a dark corner a little aloof from the throng ofpeople.
"No, but it must have been she. I am glad I have not that sin on mysoul."
"You are a fool, Gaetano. What is a girl to a couple of hundredsoldiers? Besides, if you had held her tight she would not have gothere in time to be killed."
"Eh--but a girl! The other vagabonds at least, we have despatched in agood cause. Viva la liberta!"
"Hush! There are the gendarmes! This way!"
So they disappeared into the darkness whence they had come.
It was not only in the Borgo Nuovo that there was confusion andconsternation. The first signal for the outbreak had been given in thePiazza Colonna, where bombs had been exploded. Attacks were made uponthe prisons by bands of those sinister-looking, unknown men, who forseveral days had been noticed in various parts of the city. A compactmob invaded the capitol, armed with better weapons than mobs generallyfind ready to their hands. At the Porta San Paolo, which was rightlyjudged to be one of the weakest points of the city, a furious attackwas made from without by a band of Garibaldians who had crept up nearthe walls in various disguises during the last two days. More than oneof the barracks within the city were assaulted simultaneously, and fora short time companies of men paraded the streets, shouting their criesof "Viva Garibaldi, Viva la liberta!" A few cried "Viva Vittorio!" and"Viva l'Italia!" But a calm observer--and there were many such in Romethat night--could easily see that the demonstration was rather infavour of an anarchic republic than of the Italian monarchy. On thewhole, the population showed no sympathy with the insurrection. It isenough to say that this tiny revolution broke out at dusk and wasentirely quelled before nine o'clock of the same evening. The attemptsmade were bold and desperate in many cases, but were supported by asmall body of men only, the populace taking no active part in what wasdone. Had a real sympathy existed between the lower classes of Romansand the Garibaldians the result could not have been doubtful, for thevigour and energy displayed by the rioters would inevitably haveattracted any similarly disposed crowd to join in a fray, when theweight of a few hundreds more would have turned the scale at any point.There was not a French soldier in the city at the time, and of theZouaves and native troops a very large part were employed upon thefrontier. Rome was saved and restored to order by a handful ofsoldiers, who were obliged to act at many points simultaneously, andthe insignificance of the original movement may be determined from thisfact.
It is true that of the two infernal schemes, plotted at once to destroythe troops in a body and to strike terror into the inhabitants, onefailed in part and the other altogether. If the whole of the gunpowderwhich Giuseppe Monti and Gaetano Tognetti had placed in the mine underthe Serristori barracks had exploded, instead of only one-third of thequantity, a considerable part of the Borgo Nuovo would have beendestroyed; and even the disaster which actually occurred would havekilled many hundreds of Zouaves if these had chanced to be indoors atthe time. But it is impossible to calculate the damage and loss of lifewhich would have been recorded had the castle of Sant' Angelo and theadjacent fortifications been blown into the air. A huge mine had beenlaid and arrange
d for firing in the vaults of one of the bastions, butthe plot was betrayed at the very last moment by one of theconspirators. I may add that these men, who were tried, and condemnedonly to penal servitude, were liberated in 1870, three years later, bythe Italian Government, on the ground that they were merely politicalprisoners. The attempt in which they had been engaged would, however,even in time of declared war, have been regarded as a crime against thelaw of nations.
Rome was immediately declared under a state of siege, and patrols oftroops began to parade the streets, sending all stragglers whom theymet to their homes, on the admirable principle that it is the duty ofevery man who finds himself in a riotous crowd to leave it instantlyunless he can do something towards restoring order. Persons who foundthemselves in other people's houses, however, had some difficulty in atonce returning to their own, and as it has been seen that thedisturbance began precisely at the time selected by society for holdingits confabulations, there were many who found themselves in thatawkward situation.
As the sounds in the street subsided, the excitement in thedrawing-room at the Palazzo Saracinesca diminished likewise. Several ofthose present announced their intention of departing at once, but tothis the old prince made serious objections. The city was not safe, hesaid. Carriages might be stopped at any moment, and even if that didnot occur, all sorts of accidents might arise from the horses shying atthe noises, or running over people in the crowds. He had his own views,and as he was in his own house it was not easy to dispute them.
"The gates are shut," he said, with a cheerful laugh, "and none of youcan get out at present. As it is nearly dinner-time you must all dinewith me. It will not be a banquet, but I can give you something to eat.I hope nobody is gone already."
Every one, at these words, looked at everybody else, as though to seewhether any one were missing.
"I saw Monsieur Gouache go out," said Flavia Montevarchi.
"Poor fellow!" exclaimed the princess, her mother. "I hope nothing willhappen to him!" She paused a moment and looked anxiously round theroom. "Good Heavens!" she cried suddenly, "where is Faustina?"
"She must have gone out of the room with my wife," said Sant' Ilario,quietly. "I will go and see."
The princess thought this explanation perfectly natural and waited tillhe should return. He did not come back, however, so soon as might havebeen expected. He found his wife just leaving the nursery. Her firstimpulse had been to go to the child, and having satisfied herself thathe had not been carried off by a band of Garibaldians but was soundasleep in his cradle, she was about to rejoin her guests.
"Where is Faustina Montevarchi?" asked Giovanni, as though it were themost natural question in the world.
"Faustina?" repeated Corona. "In the drawing-room, to be sure. I havenot seen her."
"She is not there," said Sant' Ilario, in a more anxious tone. "Ithought she had come here with you."
"She must be with the rest. You have overlooked her in the crowd. Comeback with me and see your son--he does not seem to mind revolution inthe least!"
Giovanni, who had no real doubt but that Faustina was in the house,entered the nursery with his wife, and they stood together by thechild's cradle.
"Is he not beautiful?" exclaimed Corona, passing her arm affectionatelythrough her husband's, and leaning her cheek on his shoulder.
"He is a fine baby," replied Giovanni, his voice expressing moresatisfaction than his words. "He will look like my father when he growsup."
"I would rather he should look like you," said Corona.
"If he could look like you, dear, there would be some use in wishing."
Then they both gazed for some seconds at the swarthy little boy, wholay on his pillows, his arms thrown back above his head and his twolittle fists tightly clenched. The rich blood softly coloured thechild's dark cheeks, and the black lashes, already long, like hismother's, gave a singularly expressive look to the small face.
Giovanni tenderly kissed his wife and then they softly left the room.As soon as they were outside Sant' Ilario's thoughts returned toFaustina.
"She was certainly not in the drawing-room," he said, "I am quite sure.It was her mother who asked for her and everybody heard the question. Idare not go back without her."
They stopped together in the corridor, looking at each other with gravefaces.
"This is very serious," said Corona. "We must search the house. Sendthe men. I will tell the women. We will meet at the head of the stairs."
Five minutes later, Giovanni returned in pursuit of his wife.
"She has left the house," he said, breathlessly. "The porter saw her goout."
"Good Heavens! Why did he not stop her?" cried Corona.
"Because he is a fool!" answered Sant' Ilario, very pale in hisanxiety. "She must have lost her head and gone home. I will tell hermother."
When it was known in the drawing-room that Donna Faustina Montevarchihad left the palace alone and on foot every one was horrorstruck. Theprincess turned as white as death, though she was usually very red inthe face. She was a brave woman, however, and did not waste words.
"I must go home at once," said she. "Please order my carriage and havethe gates opened."
Giovanni obeyed silently, and a few minutes later the princess wasdescending the stairs, accompanied by Flavia, who was silent, aphenomenon seldom to be recorded in connection with that vivaciousyoung lady. Giovanni went also, and his cousin, San Giacinto.
"If you will permit me, princess, I will go with you," said the latteras they all reached the carriage. "I may be of some use."
Just as they rolled out of the deep archway, the explosion of thebarracks rent the air, the tremendous crash thundering and echoingthrough the city. The panes of the carriage-windows rattled as thoughthey would break, and all Rome was silent while one might count ascore. Then the horses plunged wildly in the traces and the vehiclestruck heavily against one of the stone pillars which stood before theentrance of the palace. The four persons inside could hear the coachmanshouting.
"Drive on!" cried San Giacinto, thrusting his head out of the window.
"Eccellenza--" began the man in a tone of expostulation.
"Drive on!" shouted San Giacinto, in a voice that made the fellow obeyin spite of his terror. He had never heard such a voice before, sodeep, so strong and so savage.
They reached the Palazzo Montevarchi without encountering any seriousobstacle. In a few minutes they were convinced that Donna Faustina hadnot been heard of there, and a council was held upon the stairs. Whilstthey were deliberating, Prince Montevarchi came out, and with him hiseldest son, Bellegra, a handsome man about thirty years old, with blueeyes and a perfectly smooth fair beard. He was more calm than hisfather, who spoke excitedly, with many gesticulations.
"You have lost Faustina!" cried the old man in wild tones. "You havelost Faustina! And in such times as these! Why do you stand there? Oh,my daughter! my daughter! I have so often told you to be careful,Guendalina--move, in the name of God--the child is lost, lost, I tellyou! Have you no heart? no feeling? Are you a mother? Signori miei, Iam desperate!"
And indeed he seemed to be, as he stood wringing his hands, stampinghis feet, and vociferating incoherently, while the tears began to flowdown his cheeks.
"We are going in search of your daughter," said Sant' Ilario. "Praycalm yourself. She will certainly be found."
"Perhaps I had better go too," suggested Ascanio Bellegra, rathertimidly. But his father threw his arms round him and held him tightly.
"Do you think I will lose another child?" he cried. "No, no, no--figliomio--you shall never go out into the midst of a revolution."
Sant' Ilario looked on gravely, though he inwardly despised the poorold man for his weakness. San Giacinto stood against the wall, waiting,with, a grim smile of amusement on his face. He was measuring AscanioBellegra with his eye and thought he would not care for his assistance.The princess looked scornfully at her husband and son.
"We are losing time," said Sant' Ilario at last
to his cousin. "Ipromise you to bring you your daughter," he added gravely, turning tothe princess. Then the two went away together, leaving PrinceMontevarchi still lamenting himself to his wife and son. Flavia hadtaken no part in the conversation, having entered the hall and gone toher room at once.
The cousins left the palace together and walked a little way down thestreet, before either spoke. Then Sant' Ilario stopped short.
"Does it strike you that we have undertaken rather a difficultmission?" he asked.
"A very difficult one," answered San Giacinto.
"Rome is not the largest city in the world, but I have not theslightest idea where to look for that child. She certainly left ourhouse. She certainly has not returned to her own. Between the two,practically, there lies the whole of Rome. I think the best thing todo, will be to go to the police, if any of them can be found."
"Or to the Zouaves," said San Giacinto.
"Why to the Zouaves? I do not understand you."
"You are all so accustomed to being princes that you do not watch each,other. I have done nothing but watch, you all the time. That young ladyis in love with Monsieur Gouache."
"Really!" exclaimed Sant' Ilario, to whom the idea was as novel andincredible as it could have been to old Montevarchi himself, "really,you must be mistaken. The thing is impossible."
"Not at all. That young man took Donna Faustina's hand and held it forsome time there by the piano while I was shutting the windows in yourdrawing-room." San Giacinto did not tell all he had seen.
"What?" cried Sant' Ilario. "You are mad--it is impossible!"
"On the contrary, I saw it. A moment later Gouache left the room. DonnaFaustina must have gone just after him. It is my opinion that shefollowed him."
Before Sant' Ilario could answer, a small patrol of foot-gendarmes cameup, and peremptorily ordered the two gentlemen to go home. Sant' Ilarioaddressed the corporal in charge. He stated his name and that of hiscousin.
"A lady has been lost," he then said. "She is Donna FaustinaMontevarchi--a young lady, very fair and beautiful. She left thePalazzo Saracinesca alone and on foot half an hour ago and has not beenheard of. Be good enough to inform the police you meet of this fact andto say that a large reward will be paid to any one who brings her toher father's house--to this palace here."
After a few more words the patrol passed on, leaving the two cousins totheir own devices. Sant' Ilario was utterly annoyed at the view justpresented to him, and could not believe the thing true, though he hadno other explanation to offer.
"It is of no use to stand here doing nothing," said San Giacinto ratherimpatiently. "There is another crowd coming, too, and we shall bedelayed again. I think we had better separate. I will go one way, andyou take the other."
"Where will you go?" asked Sant' Ilario. "You do not know your wayabout---"
"As she may be anywhere, we may find her anywhere, so that it is of noimportance whether I know the names of the streets or not. You had bestthink of all the houses to which she might have gone, among herfriends. You know them better than I do. I will beat up all the streetsbetween here and your house. When I am tired I will go to your palace."
"I am afraid you will not find her," replied Sant' Ilario. "But we musttry for the sake of her poor mother."
"It is a question of luck," said the other, and they separated at once.
San Giacinto turned in the direction of the crowd which was pouringinto the street at some distance farther on. As he approached, he heardthe name "Serristori" spoken frequently in the hum of voices.
"What about the Serristori?" he asked of the first he met.
"Have you not heard?" cried the fellow. "It is blown up with gunpowder!There are at least a thousand dead. Half the Borgo Nuovo is destroyed,and they say that the Vatican will go next---"
The man would have run on for any length of time, but San Giacinto hadheard enough and dived into the first byway he found, intending toescape the throng and make straight for the barracks. He had to ask hisway several times, and it was fully a quarter of an hour before hereached the bridge. Thence he easily found the scene of the disaster,and came up to the hospital of Santo Spirito just after the gates hadclosed behind the bearers of the dead. He mixed with the crowd andasked questions, learning very soon that the first search, made by thepeople from the hospital, had only brought to light the bodies of twoZouaves and one woman.
"And I did not see her," said the man who was speaking, "but they sayshe was a lady and beautiful as an angel," "Rubbish!" exclaimedanother. "She was a little sewing woman who lived in the Borgo Vecchio.And I know it is true because her innamorato was one of the deadZouaves they picked up."
"I don't believe there was any woman at all," said a third. "Whatshould a woman be doing at the barracks?"
"She was killed outside," observed the first speaker, a timid old man."At least, I was told so, but I did not see her."
"It was a woman bringing a baby to put into the Rota," [Footnote: TheRota was a revolving box in which foundlings were formerly placed. Thebox turned round and the infant was taken inside and cared for. Itstands at the gate of the Santo Spirito Hospital, and is still visible,though no longer in use.] cried a shrill-voiced washerwoman. "She gotthe child in and was running away, when the place blew up, and thedevil carried her off. And serve her right, for throwing away her baby,poor little thing!"
In the light of these various opinions, most of which supported thestory that some woman had been carried into the hospital, San Giacintodetermined to find out the truth, and boldly rang the bell. A panel wasopened in the door, and the porter looked out at the surging crowd.
"What do you want?" he inquired roughly, on seeing that admittance hadnot been asked for a sick or wounded person.
"I want to speak with the surgeon in charge," replied San Giacinto.
"He is busy," said the man rather doubtfully. "Who are you?"
"A friend of one of the persons just killed."
"They are dead. You had better wait till morning and come again,"suggested the porter.
"But I want to be sure that it is my friend who is dead."
"Then why do you not give your name? Perhaps you are a Garibaldian. Whyshould I open?"
"I will tell the surgeon my name, if you will call him. There issomething for yourself. Tell him I am a Roman prince and must see himfor a moment."
"I will see if he will come," said the man, shutting the panel in SanGiacinto's face. His footsteps echoed along the pavement of the widehall within. It was long before he came back, and San Giacinto hadleisure to reflect upon the situation.
He had very little doubt but that the dead woman was no other thanDonna Faustina. By a rare chance, or rather in obedience to anirresistible instinct, he had found the object of his search in half anhour, while his cousin was fruitlessly inquiring for the missing girlin the opposite direction. He had been led to the conclusion that shehad followed Gouache by what he had seen in the Saracinesca'sdrawing-room, and by a process of reasoning too simple to suggestitself to an ordinary member of Roman society. What disturbed him mostwas the thought of the consequences of his discovery, and he resolvedto conceal the girl's name and his own if possible. If she were indeeddead, it would be wiser to convey her body to her father's houseprivately; if she were still alive, secrecy was doubly necessary. Ineither case it would be utterly impossible to account to the world forthe fact that Faustina Montevarchi had been alone in the Borgo Nuovo atsuch an hour; and San Giacinto had a lively interest in preserving thegood reputation of Casa Montevarchi, since he had been meditating forsome time past a union with Donna Flavia.
At last the panel opened again, and when the porter had satisfiedhimself that the gentleman was still without, a little door in theheavy gate was cautiously unfastened and San Giacinto went in, bendingnearly double to pass under the low entrance. In the great vestibule hewas immediately confronted by the surgeon in charge, who was in hisshirt sleeves, but had thrown his coat over his shoulders and held ittogether at the neck
to protect himself from the night air. SanGiacinto begged him to retire out of hearing of the porter, and the twowalked away together.
"There was a lady killed just now by the explosion, was there not?"inquired San Giacinto.
"She is not dead," replied the surgeon. "Do you know her?"
"I think so. Had she anything about her to prove her identity?"
"The letter M embroidered on her handkerchief. That is all I know. Shehas not been here a quarter of an hour. I thought she was dead myself,when we took her up."
"She was not under the ruins?"
"No. She was struck by some small stone, I fancy. The two Zouaves werehalf buried, and are quite dead."
"May I see them? I know many in the corps. They might be acquaintances."
"Certainly. They are close by in the mortuary chamber, unless they havebeen put in the chapel."
The two men entered the grim place, which was dimly lighted by alantern hanging overhead. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the ghastlydetails. San Giacinto bent down curiously and looked at the dead men'sfaces. He knew neither of them, and told the surgeon so.
"Will you allow me to see the lady?" he asked.
"Pardon me, if I ask a question," said the surgeon, who was a man ofmiddle age, with a red beard and keen grey eyes. "To whom have I theadvantage of speaking?"
"Signor Professore," replied San Giacinto, "I must tell you that ifthis is the lady I suppose your patient to be, the honour of one of thegreatest families in Rome is concerned, and it is important that strictsecrecy should be preserved."
"The porter told me that you were a Roman prince," returned the surgeonrather bluntly. "But you speak like a southerner."
"I was brought up in Naples. As I was saying, secrecy is veryimportant, and I can assure you that you will earn the gratitude ofmany by assisting me."
"Do you wish to take this lady away at once?"
"Heaven forbid! Her mother and sister shall come for her in half anhour."
The surgeon thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood staring for amoment or two at the bodies of the Zouaves.
"I cannot do it," he said, suddenly looking up at San. Giacinto. "I ammaster here, and I am responsible. The secret is professional, ofcourse. If I knew you, even by sight, I should not hesitate. As it is,I must ask your name."
San Giacinto did not hesitate long, as the surgeon was evidently masterof the situation. He took a card from his case and silently handed itto the doctor. The latter took it and read the name, "Don GiovanniSaracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto." His face betrayed no emotion,but the belief flashed through his mind that there was no such personin existence. He was one of the leading men in his profession, and knewPrince Saracinesca and Sant' Ilario, but he had never heard of thisother Don Giovanni. He knew also that the city was in a state ofrevolution and that many suspicious persons were likely to gain accessto public buildings on false pretences.
"Very well," he said quietly. "You are not afraid of dead men, I see.Be good enough to wait a moment here--no one will see you, and you willnot be recognised. I will go and see that there is nobody in the way,and you shall have a sight of the young lady."
His companion nodded in assent and the surgeon went out through thenarrow door. San Giacinto was surprised to hear the heavy key turned inthe lock and withdrawn, but immediately accounted for the fact on thetheory that the surgeon wished to prevent any one from finding hisvisitor lest the secret should be divulged. He was not a nervous man,and had no especial horror of being left alone in a mortuary chamberfor a few minutes. He looked about him, and saw that the room was highand vaulted. One window alone gave air, and this was ten feet from thefloor and heavily ironed. He reflected with a smile that if it pleasedthe surgeon to leave him there he could not possibly get out. Neitherhis size nor his phenomenal strength could assist him in the least.There was no furniture in the place. Half a dozen slabs of slate forthe bodies were built against the wall, solid and immovable, and thedoor was of the heaviest oak, thickly studded with huge iron nails. Ifthe dead men had been living prisoners their place of confinement couldnot have been more strongly contrived.
San Giacinto waited a quarter of an hour, and at last, as the surgeondid not return, he sat down upon one of the marble slabs and, beingvery hungry, consoled himself by lighting a cigar, while he meditatedupon the surest means of conveying Donna Faustina to her father'shouse. At last he began to wonder how long he was to wait.
"I should not wonder," he said to himself, "if that long-earedprofessor had taken me for a revolutionist."
He was not far wrong, indeed. The surgeon had despatched a messengerfor a couple of gendarmes and had gone about his business in thehospital, knowing very well that it would take some time to find thepolice while the riot lasted, and congratulating himself upon havingcaught a prisoner who, if not a revolutionist, was at all events animpostor, since he had a card printed with a false name.