"And yet I despise you," said Roma.
There was a moment of silence, and then, recovering himself, the Baron
tried to laugh.
"As you will. I must needs accept the only possible interpretation of
your words. I thought my devotion in spite of every provocation might
burn away your bitterness. But if...." (he was getting excited) "if you
have no respect for the past, you may have some regard for the future."
She looked at him with a new fear.
"Naturally, I have no desire to humiliate myself further by suing to a
woman who despises me. It will be sufficient to punish the man who is
responsible for my loss of esteem in the eyes of one who has so many
reasons to respect me."
"You mean that you will persuade the King to break his promise?"
"The King need not be persuaded after he has appointed his Dictator."
"So the King's promise to pardon Mr. Rossi will be set aside by his
successor?"
"If I leave this room without a better answer ... yes."
Roma drew from behind the revolver she had held in her hand.
"Then you will never leave this room," she said.
The Baron stood perfectly still, and there was a moment of deadly
silence.
Then came the rattle of carriage wheels on the stones of the piazza,
followed immediately by a hurried footstep on the stairs.
Roma heard it. She was trembling all over.
A moment afterwards there was a knock at the door. Then another knock,
and another. It was imperative, irregular knocking.
Roma, who had forgotten all about the Baron, was rooted to the spot on
which she stood. The Baron, who had understood everything, was also
transfixed.
Then came a thick, vibrating voice, "Roma!"
Roma made a faint cry, and dropped the revolver out of her graspless
hand. The Baron picked it up instantly. He was the first to recover
himself.
"Hush!" he said in a whisper. "Let him come in. I will go into this
room. I mean no harm to any one; but if he should follow me--if you
should reveal my presence--remember what I said before about a
challenge. And if I challenge him his shrift will have to be swift and
sure."
The Baron stepped into the bedroom. Then the voice came again, "Roma!
Roma!"
Roma staggered to the door and opened it.
VI
Flying from the railway station in the coupé, down the Via Nazionale and
the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, Rossi had seen by the electric light the
remains of the day's festoons, triumphal arches, banners, embroideries,
emblems, and flowers. These things had passed before his eyes like a
flash, yet they had deepened the bitterness of his desire to meet with
Roma that he might thrust the evidence of her treachery into her face.