Other cities vie with each other in doing honour to the
gifted artist. She ventures to Ravenna, and--is murdered.
There was a bitterness in Signor Fortini's consideration of the
matter from this point of view, which was more poignant than any
other man than an Italian would quite understand. For nowhere else
do municipal pride, jealousy, and patriotism run so high.
A foul and cruel murder had been done: so much was certain. Signor
Fortini had not the smallest hope that the death would be found to
have resulted from natural causes. And then came the consideration
whether there could be any hope that, after all, the deed had been
done by some other hand than that of the young Marchese di
Castelmare.
After thinking deeply for several minutes, the lawyer shook his
head. That such a deed might have been done in the forest on the
person of one found sleeping there, whose appearance was such as to
hold out the expectation of booty to a plunderer, was possible--not
very likely, but possible. Possible enough to suppose that lawless
and evil-disposed persons might have been wandering there-
depredators on the forest, who exist in great numbers--smugglers
making their way across the country by hidden paths, or what not?
Possible enough that such a deed might have been done, and the
perpetrators of it far away before the discovery of the body, away
to the southward, and across the Apennine into Tuscany in the space
of a few hours.
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