Early in the morning of Holy Saturday, Roma was summoned as a witness
before the Penal Tribunal of Rome. The citation, which was signed by a
magistrate, required that she should present herself at the Procura at
ten o'clock the same day, "to depose about facts on which she would then
be interrogated," and she was warned that if she did not appear, "she
would incur the punishment sanctioned by Article 176 of the Code of
Penal Procedure."
Roma found Father Pifferi waiting for her at the door of the Procura.
The old Capuchin looked anxious. He glanced at her pale face and
quivering lips and inquired if she had slept. She answered that she was
well, and they turned to go upstairs.
On the landing of the first floor Commendatore Angelelli, who was
wearing a flower in his button-hole, approached them with smiles and
quick bows to lead them to the office of the magistrate.
"Only a form," said the Questore. "It will be nothing--nothing at all."
Commendatore Angelelli led the way into a silent room furnished in red,
with carpet, couch, armchairs, table, a stove, and two large portraits
of the King and Queen.
"Sit down, please. Make yourselves comfortable," said the Chief of
Police, and he passed into an adjoining room.
A moment afterwards he returned with two other men. One of them was an
elderly gentleman, who wore with his frockcoat a close-fitting velvet
cap decorated with two bands of gold lace. This was the Procurator
General, and the other, a younger man, carrying a portfolio, was his
private secretary. A marshal of Carabineers came to the door for a
moment.
"Don't be afraid, my child. No harm shall come to you," whispered Father
Pifferi. But the good Capuchin himself was trembling visibly.
The Procurator General was gentle and polite, but he dismissed the Chief
of Police, and would have dismissed the Capuchin also, but for vehement
protests.
"Very well, I see no objection; sit down again," he said.
It was a strange three-cornered interview. Father Pifferi, quaking with
fear, thought he was there to protect Roma. The Procurator General,
smiling and serene, thought she had come to complete a secret scheme of
personal revenge. And Roma herself, sitting erect in her chair, in her
black Eton coat and straw hat, and with her wonderful eyes turning
slowly from face to face, thought only of Rossi, and was silent and
calm.
The secretary opened his portfolio on the table and prepared to write.
The Procurator General sat in front of Roma and leaned slightly forward.
"You are Donna Roma Volonna, daughter of the late Prince Prospero
Volonna?"
"I am."
"You were born in England and lived there as a child?"
"Yes."
"Although you were young when you lost your father, you have a perfect
recollection both of him and of his associates?"
"Of some of his associates."
"One of them was a young man who lived in his house as a kind of adopted
son?"
"Yes."
"You are aware that your father was unhappily involved in political
troubles?"
"I am."
"You know that he was arrested on a serious charge?"
"I do."
"You also know that, when condemned to death by a military tribunal for
conspiring against the person of the late sovereign, his sentence was
commuted by the King, but that one of his associates, condemned at the
same time, and for the same crime, escaped all punishment because he was
not then at the disposition of the law?"
"Yes."
"That was the young man who lived with him as his adopted son?"
"It was."
There was a moment's pause during which nothing could be heard but the
quick breathing of the Capuchin and the scratching of the secretary's
pen.
"During the past few months you have made the acquaintance in Rome of
the Deputy David Rossi?"
"I have."
The Capuchin moved in his seat. "Acquaintance! The lady is married to
the Deputy."