"This is not true," said Minghelli, red as the gills of a turkey.
"Isn't it? Give me the cross, and let me swear the man a liar," cried
Bruno.
Roma was breathing hard and rising to her feet, but the advocate Fuselli
restrained her and rose himself. In six sentences he summarised the
treatment of Bruno in prison, and denounced it as worthy of the
cruellest epochs of tyrannical domination, in which men otherwise
honourable could become demons in order to save the dynasty and the
institutions and to make their own careers.
"Mr. President," he cried, "I call on you in the name of humanity to say
that justice in Italy has nothing to do with a barbarous system which
aims at obtaining denunciations through jealousy and justice through
revenge."
The president was deeply moved. "I have made a solemn promise under the
shadow of that venerable image"--he pointed to the effigy above him--"to
administer justice in this case, and to the last I will do my duty."
The Public Prosecutor rose again and obtained permission to interrogate
the prisoner.
"You say the witness Minghelli told you that your wife had fled with the
Honourable Rossi?"
"He did, and it was a lie, like all the rest of it."
"How do you know it was a lie?"
Bruno made no answer, and the young officer took up a letter from his
portfolio.
"Do you know the Honourable Rossi's handwriting?"
"Do I know my own ugly fist?"
"Is that the Honourable Rossi's writing?" said the officer, handing the
envelope to the usher to be shown to Bruno.
"It is," said Bruno.
"Sure of it?"
"Sure."
"You see it is a letter addressed to your wife?"
"I see. But you needn't go on washing the donkey's head, Mister--I know
what you are getting at."
"You must not speak like that to him, Rocco," said the president.
"Remember, he is the honourable representative of the law."
"Mustn't I, Excellency? Then tell his honourableness that David Rossi
and my wife are like brother and sister, and anybody who makes evil of
that isn't stuff to take with a pair of tongs."
Saying this, Bruno flung the letter back on to the table.
"Don't you want to read it?"
"Not I! It's somebody else's correspondence, and I'm not an honourable
representative of the law."
"Then permit me to read it to you," said the Public Prosecutor, and
taking the letter out of the envelope he began in a loud voice: "'Dearest Elena....'"