She determined to send her carriage to wait for him at the door of the Ministry of the Interior, with the footman who had known Maironi at Villa Diedo.

It was imprudent, but what did it matter?
Nothing mattered save that dear life.
The announcement of the death of Marchesa Nene had reached her that very evening by the last post.

She wished Piero to have it immediately, that he might at once pray for the poor dead woman.

It was strange, but nevertheless true, that she could merge herself in him, forget herself, her own incredulity, could feel that which he with his faith must feel and desire.

That same night the footman gave her an account of his errand.