now that you are safe!"
For fully half an hour they sat talking in this wise, both knowing that the situation could not last, but neither willing to speak the word which must end it. Gouache, indeed, was in a twofold difficulty. Not only was he wholly at a loss for a means of introducing Faustina into her father's house unobserved at such an hour; he was in command of the men stationed in the neighbourhood, and to leave his post under any circumstances whatever would be a very grave breach of duty. He could neither allow Faustina to return alone, nor could he accompany her. He could not send one of his men for a friend to help him, since to take any one into his confidence was to ruin the girl's reputation in the eyes of all Rome. To find a cab at that time of night was almost out of the question. The position seemed desperate. Faustina, too, was a mere child, and it was impossible to explain to her the social consequences of her being discovered with him.
"I think, perhaps," said she after a happy silence, and in rather a timid voice—"I think, perhaps, you had better take me home now. They will be anxious, you know," she added, as though fearing that he should suspect her of wishing to leave him.
"Yes, I must take you home," answered Gouache, somewhat absently. To her his tone sounded cold.
"Are you angry, because I want to go?" asked the young girl, looking lovingly into his face.
"Angry? No indeed, darling! I ought to have taken you home at once—but I was too happy to think of it. Of course your people must be terribly anxious, and the question is how to manage your entrance. Can you get into the house unseen? Is there any way? Any small door that is open?"
"We can wake the porter," said Faustina, simply. "He will let us in."
"It would not do. How can I go to your father and tell him that I found you here? Besides, the porter knows me."
"Well, if he does, what does it matter?"
"He would talk about it to other servants, and all Rome would know it to-morrow. You must go home with a woman, and to do that we must find some one you know. It would be a terrible injury to you to have such a story repeated abroad."
"Why?"
To this innocent question Gouache did not find a ready answer. He smiled quietly and pressed her to his side more closely.
"The world is a very bad place, dearest. I am a man and know it. You must trust me to do what is best. Will you?"
"How can you ask? I will always trust you."
"Then I will tell you what we will do. You must go home with the
Princess Sant' Ilario."
"With Corona? But—"
"She knows that I love you, and she is the only woman in Rome whom I would trust. Do not be surprised. She asked me if it was true, and I said it was. I am on duty here, and you must wait for me while I make the rounds of my sentries—it will not take five minutes. Then I will take you to the Palazzo Saracinesca. I shall not be missed here for an hour."
"I will do whatever you wish," said Faustina. "Perhaps that is best.
But I am afraid everybody will be asleep. Is it not very late?"
"I will wake them up if they are sleeping."
He left her to make his round and soon assured himself that his men were not napping. Then before he returned he stopped at the corner of a street and by the feeble moonlight scratched a few words on a leaf from his notebook.
"Madame," he wrote, "I have found Donna Faustina Montevarchi, who had lost her way. It is absolutely necessary that you should accompany her to her father's house. You are the only person whom I can trust. I am at your gate. Bring something in the way of a cloak to disguise her with."
He signed his initials and folded the paper, slipping it into his pocket where he could readily find it. Then he went back to the place where Faustina was waiting. He helped her out of the ruins, and passing through a side street so as to avoid the sentinels, they made their way rapidly to the bridge. The sentry challenged Gouache who gave the word at once and was allowed to pass on with his charge. In less than a quarter of an hour they were at the Palazzo Saracinesca. Gouache made Faustina stand in the shadow of a doorway on the opposite side of the street and advanced to the great doors. A ray of light which passed through the crack of a shutter behind the heavy iron grating on one side of the arch showed that the porter was up. Anastase drew his bayonet from his side and tapped with its point against the high window.
"Who is there?" asked the porter, thrusting his head out.
"Is the Principe di Sant' Ilario still awake?" asked Gouache.
"He is not at home. Heaven knows where he is. What do you want? The princess is sitting up to wait for the prince."
"That will do as well," replied Anastase. "I am sent with this note from the Vatican. It needs an immediate answer. Be good enough to say that I was ordered to wait."
The explanation satisfied the porter, to whom the sight of a Zouave was just then more agreeable than usual. He put his arm out through the grating and took the paper.
"It does not look as though it came from the Vatican," he remarked doubtfully, as he turned the scrap to the light of his lamp.
"The cardinal is waiting—make haste!" said Gouache. It struck him that even if the man could read a little, which was not improbable, the initials A. G., being those of Cardinal Antonelli in reversed order would be enough to frighten the fellow and make him move quickly. This, indeed was precisely what occurred.
In five minutes the small door in the gate was opened and Gouache saw Corona's tall figure step out into the street. She hesitated a moment when she saw the Zouave alone, and then closed the door with a snap behind her. Gouache bowed quickly and gave her his arm.
"Let us be quick," he said, "or the porter will see us. Donna Faustina is under that doorway. You know how grateful I am—there is no time to say it."
Corona said nothing but hastened to Faustina's side. The latter put her arms about her friend's neck and kissed her. The princess threw a wide cloak over the young girl's shoulders and drew the hood over her head.
"Let us be quick," said Corona, repeating Gouache's words. They walked quickly away in silence, and no one spoke until they leached the Palazzo Montevarchi. Explanations were impossible, and every one was too much absorbed by the danger of the situation to speak of anything else. When they were a few steps from the gate Corona stopped.
"You may leave us here," she said coldly, addressing Gouache.
"But, princess, I will see you home," protested the latter, somewhat surprised by her tone.
"No—I will take a servant back with me. Will you be good enough to leave us?" she asked almost haughtily, as Gouache still lingered.
He had no choice but to obey her commands, though for some time he could not explain to himself the cause of the princess's behaviour.
"Goodnight, Madame. Good-night, Mademoiselle," he said, quietly. Then with a low bow he turned away and disappeared in the darkness. In five minutes he had reached the bridge, running at the top of his speed, and he regained his post without his absence having been observed.
When
