"I will have you in prison before morning," said Sant' Ilario
fiercely, in the ear of the official, as they reached the outer
hall.
The prefect made no reply, but raised his shoulders almost
imperceptibly and smiled for the first time, as he pointed
silently to the gendarmes. The latter formed into an even rank and
tramped down the stairs after the four persons whom they
accompanied. In a few minutes the whole party were on their way to
the Termini, Faustina with her friends in Sant' Ilario's carriage,
the prefect in his little brougham, the soldiers on their horses,
trotting steadily along in a close squad.
Faustina sat leaning her head upon Corona's shoulder, while
Giovanni looked out of the window into the dark streets, his rage
boiling within him, and all the hotter because he was powerless to
change the course of events. From time to time he uttered savage
ejaculations which promised ill for the prefect's future peace,
either in this world or in the next, but the sound of the wheels
rolling upon the uneven paving-stones prevented his voice from
reaching the two women.
"Dear child," said Corona, "do not be frightened. You shall be
free to-night or in the morning--I will not leave you."
Faustina was silent, but pressed her friend's hand again and
again, as though she understood.
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