'Sir, I am your servant.'
'Scipione, Alessandro, follow me!'
And accompanied by his sons, he left the room, and I remained alone.
The servants peeped in at the door, looking at me as if I were some
strange beast, and fled when I turned round. I walked up and down, up
and down; I looked out of window. In the street the people were going to
and fro, singing, and talking as if nothing had happened. They did not
know that death was flying through the air; they did not know that the
happiness of living men had gone for ever.
At last I heard the steps again, and Bartolomeo Moratini entered the
room, followed by his sons; and all three were very grave.
'Sir,' he said, 'the stain on your honour and mine has been effaced.'