"Shuddering with horror, I heard Julio say: "'Master, I have committed a frightful murder. Remorse pursues me as a malediction from God. I shall put an end to my guilty life. In an hour I shall be in eternal torments, but I wish the body of my victim to be buried in holy ground. Go to your pavilion. In the lowest cellar, at the extremity of the subterranean passage, you will find the corpse of Signor Geronimo buried.'" Tears fell fast from the eyes of Signor Deodati, and sobs convulsed his frame. Turchi continued: "'Signor Geronimo!' I exclaimed, in terror. 'Have you killed my poor friend?' "'Yes, I put to death Signor Geronimo. I needed money to spend at the taverns, and you would not give it to me. I killed him in order to get the money he might have about him. Adieu! This very day all will be over with me.' Before I had sufficiently recovered from the shock to think of seizing Julio, he had disappeared. Probably, to-day--" "Heavens!" exclaimed Simon Turchi, "I hear Miss Van de Werve." "For the love of God, not a word in her presence," said Mr. Van de Werve. Mary entered the room, looking around anxiously. She had seen the officers at the door, and she seemed to inquire of her father the cause of their presence. She remarked her father's pallor and embarrassment. Simon Turchi looked down, as if in despair. Deodati covered his face with his hands. A cry of anguish escaped the young girl, and she glanced in turns at her father, Deodati, Turchi, and the bailiff; but they each seemed anxious to avoid her eye. "Go to your room, Mary," said Mr. Van de Werve. "Give me this proof of affection. Ask nothing." The young girl, struck by these evidences of some misfortune, ran to her father and exclaimed, joining her hands: "Speak, father, and tell me what has happened. Leave me not in this terrible suspense. Tell me that they have not found Geronimo's dead body. Alas! he is dead! Is it not so?" Throwing her arms around her father's neck, she wept bitterly, conjuring him to tell her the cause of their emotion. Without giving her any explanation, Mr. Van de Werve attempted to lead his daughter out of the room; but she, like one crazed by grief, released her hand from her father's, fell upon her knees before Turchi, and exclaimed: "By the love you bore him, signor, take pity on me and tell me what has happened to him. Let me not leave the room under the frightful conviction that he is dead!" Turchi remained silent, gazing upon her with an expression of profound sadness. "You, too, are implacable, inexorable!" she said, rising. "But you, at least--his uncle, his father--will be more merciful." She ran to the weeping merchant, gently forced his hands from his face, and conjured him, in piteous accents, to give her some information which would relieve the torturing suspense. The old Deodati, still weeping, threw his arms around her neck, and murmured: "God bless you, my child, for your love. Let us pray for him!"