instant I believe that
my heart turned me to thoughts of God, and sent up a prayer for mercy
for my poor sinful soul. Then the door swung wide. Two halberdiers and
a carnifex in his odious leathern apron stood before me. Clearly Ramiro
sought to be exact, and to have me hanging the instant the sun should
vanish.

"It is time," said one of the soldiers, whilst the executioner, stepping
into my chamber, pinioned my wrists behind me, and retaining hold of the
cord bade me march. He followed, holding that slender cord, and so, like
a beast to the shambles, went I.

Once more they led me into the hall, where the shadows were lengthening
in dark contrast to the splashes of sunlight that lingered on the floor,
and whose blood-red hue was deepened by the gules of the windows through
which it was filtered.

Ramiro was waiting for me, and six of his officers were in attendance.
But, for once, there were no men-at-arms at hand. On a chair, the one
usually occupied by Ramiro, himself, sat Madonna Paola, still in her
torn and bedraggled raiment, her face white, her eyes wild as they had
been when first she had been haled into Ramiro's presence, some two
hours ago, and her features so rigidly composed that it told the tale of
the awful self-control she must be exerting--a self-control that might
end with a sudden snap that would plunge her into madness.

A wild rage possessed me at sight of her. Let Ramiro be ruthless and
cruel where men were concerned; that was a thing for which forgiveness
might be found him. But that he should submit a lady, delicately
nurtured as was Madonna, to such horrors as she had undergone since she
had awakened from his sleeping-potion in the Church of San Domenico, was
something for which no Hell could punish him condignly.

Ramiro met me with a countenance through the assumed gravity of which I
could espy his wicked, infernal mockery peeping forth.

"I deplore your end, Lazzaro Biancomonte," said he slowly, "for you are
a brave man, and brave men are rare. You were worthy of better things,
but you chose to cross swords with Ramiro del' Orca, and you have got
your death-blow. May God have mercy on your soul."

"I am praying," said I, "for just so much mercy as you shall have
justice. If my prayer is heard, I should be well-content."

He changed countenance a little. So, too, I thought, did Madonna Paola.
My firmness may have yielded her some grain of comfort. Ramiro set his
hands on his hips, and