Donna Sabina, the article concluded,
was now with her mother at the Russian Embassy.
The evening papers simply enlarged upon this first story, and in the
same strain. Malipieri was held up to the admiration of the public.
Sabina's name was treated with profound respect, there was not a word
which could be denied with truth, or resented with a show of justice.
And yet, in Italy, and most of all in Rome, it meant ruin to Sabina,
and the reprobation of all decent people upon Malipieri if he did not
immediately marry her.
It was the ambassador himself who informed the Princess of what had
happened, coming himself to the sitting-room as soon as he learned
that she was visible. He stayed with her a long time, and they sent
for Sabina, who was by far the least disturbed of the three. It was
all true, she said, and there was nothing against her in the article.
Masin brought the news to Malipieri with his coffee, and the paper
itself. Malipieri scarcely ever read it, but Masin never failed to,
and his big, healthy face was very grave.
Malipieri felt as if he were going to have brain fever, as his eye ran
along the lines.
"Masin," he said, when he had finished, "did you ever kill a man?"
"No, sir," answered Masin. "You have always believed that I was
innocent, though I had to serve my seven years.
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