She had been wondering ever since she had regained consciousness on the previous night what had really occurred in the room of the Minister of the Royal Household--whether the British diplomat, her friend, had also been discovered there in her company. She had questioned the maids, but they had been instructed by Ghelardi and refused to satisfy her curiosity.

Therefore she was in ignorance of what had happened after the receipt of that fatal message from Brussels.

How she had pa.s.sed that day of feverish anxiety she knew not. Every second had to her seemed an hour.

At last, after crossing herself devoutly, she rose from her knees wearily, when her eyes fell upon the clock.

Instantly she began to take off her splendid evening gown. Her diamonds she unclasped and tossed them unheeded into a velvet-lined casket on the big dressing-table, together with her bracelets and the ornament from her corsage.

Then, kicking off her evening slippers, she exchanged her pale blue silk stockings for stout ones of black cashmere, and putting on a pair of serviceable country boots, she afterwards opened her wardrobe and took out a dingy costume of blue serge--one of Renata's.

This she hastily donned, and taking down her hair, deftly arranged it so that when she put on the little black bonnet she produced from a locked box, she was in a quarter of an hour transformed from a princess to a demure, neatly-dressed lady's maid.

From a drawer in her dressing-table she took out a shabby hand-bag-- Renata's bag--and, after ascertaining that there was a small sum of money in it, she put it upon her arm, and finally examined herself in the gla.s.s.

She was an adept at disguising herself as Renata, and, after patting her hair and altering the angle of her neat bonnet, she switched off the light and left the room.

Boldly she pa.s.sed along the corridor of the private apartments until she at length opened a door at the end, whereupon she pa.s.sed a sentry unchallenged, and away into the servants' quarters.

Across the courtyard, now only dimly lit, she pa.s.sed, and then out by the servants' entrance to the Via del Quirinale.

Having left the Palace she hurried through a number of dark side-streets until she reached a small garage in a narrow thoroughfare--almost a lane--called the Via della Muratte, beyond the Trevi fountain.

A sleepy, white-haired old man roused himself as she entered, while she gave him a cheery good evening, and then went up to her car, a powerful grey one of open type, and switched on the head-lamps. From a locker in the garage the old man brought her a big, fur-lined motor coat and a close-fitting hat, and these she quickly a.s.sumed. Then a few minutes later, seated at the wheel, she pa.s.sed out of the garage exclaiming gaily:

"I shall be back before it is light, Paolo. _Buona motte_."

Gaining the Corso, silent and dark at that hour, she drove rapidly away, out by the Popolo Gate, and with her cut-out roaring went straight along the Via Flaminia, the ancient way through the mountains to Civita Castellana and the wilds of Umbria.

The night was dark and bitterly cold, for a strong east wind was blowing from the snowcapped mountains causing Lola to draw up and take her big fur mitts from the inside pocket of the car. Then she turned up the wide fur collar of her coat, mounted to the wheel again, and was soon negotiating the winding road--the surface of which at that season was shockingly loose and bad.

After fifteen miles of continual ascent she approached the dead silent old town of Castelnuova, being challenged by the octroi guards who, finding a lady alone, allowed her to proceed without further word. Then through the narrow, ancient street, lit by oil lamps, she went slowly, and out again into a great plain for a further fifteen miles--a lonely drive, indeed, along a difficult and dangerous road. But she was an expert driver and negotiated all the difficult corners with tact and caution.

Through several hamlets she pa.s.sed, but not a dog was astir, until presently she descended a sharp hill, and below saw a few meagre lights of the half-hidden town of Borghetto--a little place dominated by a great ruined castle situated on the direct railway line between Firenze and Rome.

Half-way down the hill she slackened speed, her great head-lights glaring, until presently she pulled up at the roadside and, slowly descending, extinguished the lights so that they might not attract attention.

Then, leaving the car, she hurried forward along the road, for she was cramped and cold.

But scarcely had she gone fifty yards when a dark figure came out of the shadows to meet her, uttering her name.

"Is it you, Pietro?" she asked quickly.

"_Si, signorina_," was the rea.s.suring reply, in a voice which told that its owner was a _contadino_, and not a gentleman.

Next second they were standing together.

"I received your message, Pietro," she said, "and I have kept the appointment, as you see."

The man for a few minutes did not reply. In the half-light, for the moon was now struggling through the clouds, the fact was revealed that the peasant was about forty, one of that pleasant-faced, debonair type so frequently met with in Central Italy--a gay, careless fellow who might possibly be a noted person in the little village of Borghetto.

He had taken off his hat at Lola's approach and stood bare-headed before her.

"You are silent," she said. "What has happened?"

"Nothing evil has happened, signorina," was his reply, for he spoke in the distinctive dialect of Umbria, very different indeed to the polite language of Rome. "Only I am surprised--that is all."

"Surprised! Why?"

"I feared that the signorina would not be in Rome."

"Why?"

"Because I saw the Signor Enrico to-night, and he told me you had left."

"Enrico! He has not been here?"

"I saw him at eleven o'clock. He arrived from Firenze by the north express at half-past eight. He had come from far away--from Milano, I think."

"He has been at the signora's then?" asked Her Highness quickly.

"Yes--with the Signorina Velia. I was with him an hour ago."

"Did you tell him I should be here?"

"No; I feared to tell him, signorina."

"Good. Where is he now?"

"Still at the signora's."

"Then he does not know I am here?"

"No, signorina, he goes to Rome to-morrow." Lola was silent for a few moments. She was reflecting deeply.

"You say that Velia is here--eh? Then Enrico has come to see her, I suppose?" she asked.

"I believe so. They met before at the house of old Madame Mortara's and again to-night."

"_Benissimo_, Pietro. Now tell me, what have you found out?"

"Not very much, signorina, I regret to say. They are too wary, these people. I know, however, they are watching your friend the Englishman.

And they mean mischief, too."

"Watching Signor Waldron," she echoed in alarm. "Are you quite certain of that?"

"Absolutely."

"Who are watching?"