"You are a pretty girl indeed!" he cried, looking at her pale face
in the light of the filthy little red lamp that hung over the low
door of the wine-shop. "I never kissed a lady in my life."
With that he grasped her delicate chin in his foul hand and bent
down, bringing his grimy face close to hers. But this was too
much. Though Faustina had hitherto fought with all her natural
strength against the ruffians, there was a reserved force, almost
superhuman, in her slight frame, which was suddenly roused by the
threatened outrage. With a piercing shriek she sprang backwards
and dashed herself free, sending the two blackguards reeling into
the darkness. Then, like a flash she was gone. By chance she took
the right turning and in a moment more found herself in the Via di
Tordinona, just opposite the entrance of the Apollo theatre. The
torn white handbills on the wall, and the projecting shed over the
doors told her where she was.
By this time the soldiers who had intercepted Gouache's passage
across the bridge, as well as the dense crowd, had disappeared,
and Faustina ran like the wind along the pavement it had taken the
soldier so long to traverse. Like a flitting bird she sped over
the broad space beyond and up the Borgo Nuovo, past the long low
hospital, wherein the sick and dying lay in their silence, tended
by the patient Sisters of Mercy, while all was in excitement
without.
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