the generosity of the betrayed man, but what humbled him most was the
clear note of the woman's love.

Knight of the Annunziata! Cousin of the King! President of the Council!
Dictator! These things had meant something to him an hour ago. What were
they now?

The agony of the Baron's jealousy was intolerable. For the first time in
his life his ideas, usually so clear and exact, became confused. Roma
was lost to him. He was going mad.

He looked at the revolver which he had snatched up when Roma let it
fall, examined it, made sure it was loaded, cocked it, put it in the
right-hand pocket of his overcoat, and then opened the door.

The two in the other room did not at first see him. He spoke, and their
arms slackened and they stood apart.

After a moment of silence Rossi spoke. "Roma," he said, "what is this
gentleman doing here?"

The Baron laughed. "Wouldn't it be more reasonable to ask what you are
doing here, sir?" he asked.

Then trying to put into logical sequence the confused ideas which were
besieging his tormented brain, he said, "I understand that this
apartment belongs now to the lady; the lady belongs to me, and when she
denounced you to the police it was merely in fulfilment of a plan we
concocted together on the day you insulted both of us in your speech in
the piazza."

Rossi made a step forward with a threatening gesture, but Roma
intervened. The Baron gripped firmly the revolver in his pocket, and
said:

"Take care, sir. If a man threatens me he must be prepared for the
consequences. The lady knows what those consequences may be."

Rossi, breathing heavily, was trying to retain the mastery of himself.

"If you tell me that the lady...."

"I tell you that according to the law of nature and of reason the lady
is my wife."

"It's a lie."

"Ask her."

"And so I will."

Roma saw the look of triumph with which Rossi turned to her. The
terrible moment she had lived in fear of had come to pass. The letters
she had written to Rossi had not yet reached him, and her enemy was
telling his story before she had told hers.

What was she to do? She would have said anything at that moment and
believed herself justified before God. But even lying itself would be of
no avail. She remembered the Baron's threat and trembled. If she told
the truth her confession, coming at that moment, would be worse than
vain. If she told a lie, Rossi would insult the Baron, the Baron would
challenge Rossi, and they wou