There was a miserable little brooch of tarnished silver which she
had bought with her own money at a country fair, and which had once
seemed very fine to her. She had not the slightest sentiment about such
trifles, for Italian peasants are altogether the least sentimental
people in the world; the things were not even good enough to give to
Settimia, and yet it seemed wrong to throw them away, so she had always
kept them, with a vague idea of giving them to some poor little girl, to
whom they would represent happiness. With them lay the long pin she used
to stick through her hair on Sundays when she went to church.

It had been her mother's, and it was the only thing she possessed which
had belonged to the murdered woman who had given her birth. It was
rather a fine specimen of the pins worn by the hill peasant women, and
was made like a little cross-hilted sword, with a blade of fire-gilt
steel about eight inches long. A little gilt ball was screwed upon the
point, intended to keep the pin from coming out after it was thrust
through the hair. Regina took the ball off and felt the point, which was
as sharp as that of a pen-knife; and she tried the blade with her hands
and found that it did not bend easily. It was strong enough for what she
wanted of it. She stuck it through the heavy knot of her hair, rather
low down at the back of her neck, where she could easily reach it with
her right hand; but she did not screw on the ball. It was not likely
that the pin would fall out. She was very deliberate in all she did; she
even put up her hand two or three times, without looking at herself in
the mirror, to be quite sure where to find the hilt of the pin if she
should need it. Marcello had told her to get the information he wanted
"at any cost."

Then she went back, with her candle, through the cheerful sitting-room,
and out through a small vestibule that was now dark, and up the narrow
staircase to find Settimia.

She knocked, and the woman opened, and Regina was a little surprised to
see that she was still dressed. She was pale, and looked very anxious as
she faced her mistress in the doorway.

"What is the matter?" she asked, rather nervously.

"Nothing," Regina answered in a reassuring tone. "I had forgotten to
tell you about a little change I want in the trimming of that hat, and
as I heard you moving about, I came up before going to bed."

Settimia had taken off her shoes more than half an hour earlier in order
to