uncing that unhappy lady, I ask myself why did you not
open the garden door from within--the key was in the lock, I saw it--and
pass out on to the high road. Why did you, instead, try so hard to
escape over the wall behind the ilexes that you tore your hands on the
cut glass on the top? I found the place next day. There was blood on it.
When you were struggling to escape over that wall you were not anxious
to take the Marchesa's guilt upon yourself. When you were hiding behind
the screen in the Duchess' apartment you were not--_at that
moment_--very determined to shield the Marchesa from the consequences of
her deed. All Italy is ringing with your quixotic, your chivalrous, your
superb action. _Nevertheless_, if I had quitted the Duchess' apartment,
if my natural and trained acuteness had not made one last effort
respecting the screen, _I do not think you would have followed me into
the garden to denounce yourself_."

The Delegato paused.

Michael was quite unmoved. Everything reached him dimly as through a
mist. He partly saw the difficulty in the official's mind, but it did
not interest him. He was cleared. That was enough.

"In two years much is forgotten," said the Delegato, sententiously, "and
it is, perhaps, I alone who recall the more minute details of the case,
because I was present and my interest was overwhelming. I have not
spoken of this to anyone but yourself. I shall not speak of it again. I
have taken a journey to discuss it with you because I had hoped you
would understand my professional interest in unravelling that which
remains still obscure, a mystery, which is daily becoming to me a
greater mystery than before the Marchesa's confession. You have it in
your power to gratify my natural desire for elucidation by an
explanation which can no longer injure you in any way. You are innocent.
It is proved. But even now you will not speak. You prefer to preserve
your attitude of silence to the end. Good! I will intrude on you no
longer. I offer you my congratulations. I deplore your inevitable
imprisonment. I withdraw."

The Delegato bowed yet again and went to the door.

"That of which you will not speak was known to your friend the Duke of
Colle Alto," he said. "_The Duke knew._"

"The Duke is dead," said Michael.

"I am aware of that," said the Delegato, frigidly. He bowed for the last
time, and left the cell, gently closing the door.

CHAPTER XXV

Est-ce donc une monnaie que votre amo