ble to appeal to the Court of Cassation."

"I have no desire to appeal--there is nothing to appeal against."

"There might be much if you could be brought to see that--that.... In
fact so many pleas are possible, and all of them good ones. For
instance...."

The Englishman dropped both eyes and voice.

"Well?"

"Donna Roma, you were tried and condemned on a charge of going to the
Prime Minister's cabinet with the intention of killing him, and of
killing him there. But if it could be proved that _he_ came to _your_
house, and that, to shield _another person not now in the hands of
justice_, you...."

"What are you saying, your Excellency?"

"Look!"

The Englishman had drawn from his breast-pocket a crumpled sheet of
white paper.

"Last night I visited your deserted apartment in the Piazza Navona, and
there, amid other signs that were clear and convincing--the marks of two
pistol-shots--I found--this."

"What is it? Give it to me," cried Roma. She almost snatched it out of
his hand. It was the warrant which Rossi had rolled up and flung away.

"How did that warrant come there, Donna Roma? Who brought it? What other
person was with you in those rooms that night? What does he say to this
evidence of his presence on the scene of the crime?"

Roma did not speak immediately. She continued to look at the Englishman
with her large mournful eyes until his own eyes fell, and there was no
sound but the crinkling of the warrant in her hand. Then she said, very
softly:

"Excellency, you must please let me keep this paper. As you see, it is
nothing in itself, and without my testimony you can make nothing of it.
I shall never appeal against my sentence, and therefore it can be no
good to me or to anybody. But it may prove to be a danger to somebody
else--somebody whose name should be above reproach."

She stretched out a sweet white hand and touched his own.

"Haven't I done enough wrong to him already, and isn't this paper a
proof of it? Must I go farther still, and bring him to the galleys? You
cannot wish it. Don't you see that the police would have to deny
everything? And I--if you forced me to speak, I should deny everything
also."

A gentle, brave dauntlessness rang in her voice, and the Englishman
could with difficulty keep back his tears.

"Excellency, Sir Evelyn, friend ... tell me I may keep the paper."

The Englishman rose and turned his head away. "It is yours, Donna
Roma--you must do as you please w