As the two men hurried along the dark street they conversed in low tones.

Del Ferice was trembling in every joint.
"But Donna Tullia," he almost whined.

"I cannot leave her so--she must know--" "Save your own skin from the Holy Office, master," answered Temistocle, dragging him along as fast as he could.

"I will go back and tell your lady, never fear.

She will leave Rome to-morrow.