r."

His sulkiness was breaking down and he was showing some agitation. She
lifted her large dark eyes on him and said in a soft voice:

"Poor Bruno! No wonder they have made you say things."

His jaw trembled more than ever. "No use talking of that," he said.

"Mr. Rossi will be the first to feel for you."

He turned his head and looked at her with a look of pity. "She doesn't
know," he thought. "Why should I tell her? After all, she's in the same
case as myself. What hurts me will hurt her. She has been good to me.
Why should I make her suffer?"

"If they've told you falsehoods, Bruno, in order to play on your
jealousy and inspire revenge...." "Where's Rossi?" he said sharply.

"In England."

"And where's Elena?"

"I don't know."

He wagged his poor head with a wag of wisdom, and for a moment his
clouded and stupefied brain was proud of itself.

"It was wrong of Elena to go away without saying where she was going to,
and Mr. Rossi is in despair about her."

"You believe that?"

"Indeed I do."

These words staggered him, and he felt mean and small compared to this
woman. "If she can believe in them why can't I?" he thought. But after a
moment he smiled a pitiful smile and said largely, "You don't know,
Donna Roma. But _I_ do, and they don't hoodwink me. A poor fellow
here--a convict, he works on the Gazette and hears all the news--he told
me everything."

"What's his name?" said Roma.

"Number 333, penal part. He used to occupy the next cell."

"Then you never saw his face?"

"No, but I heard his voice, and I could have sworn I knew it."

"Was it the voice of Charles Minghelli?"

"Charles Ming...."

"Time's up," said one of the warders at the door.

"Bruno," said Roma, rising, "I know that Charles Minghelli, who is now
an agent of the police, has been in this prison in the disguise of a
prisoner. I also know that after he was dismissed from the embassy in
London he asked Mr. Rossi to assist him to assassinate the Prime
Minister."

"Right about," cried the warder, and with a bewildered expression the
prisoner turned to go. Roma followed him through the open courtyard, and
until he reached the iron gate he did not lift his head. Then he faced
round with eyes full of tears, but full of fire as well, and raising one
arm he cried in a resolute voice:

"All right, sister! Leave it to me, damn me! I'll see it through."

The private visiting-room had one disadvantage. Every word that passed
wa