n we were alone, she and I, I stood a moment where they had left me,
my hands pinioned behind me, and the cord which the executioner had
held trailing the ground like a lambent tail. Then I went slowly forward
until I stood close before her. Her eyes were on my face, still with
that same look of unbelief.

"Madonna mia," said I, "do not for an instant think that it is my
purpose to ask of you any sacrifice that might save my worthless
life. Rather was my purpose in seeking these few moments with you, to
strengthen and encourage you by such news as it is mine to bring."

She looked now as if she scarcely understood.

"If I will wed him to-night, he has promised that you shall go free,"
she said in a whisper. "He says that he can bring a priest from the
neighbourhood at a moment's notice."

"Do not heed him," I cried sternly.

"I do not heed him," said she, more composedly. "If he seeks to force
me, I shall find a way of setting myself free. Dear Mother of Heaven!
death were a sweet and restful thing after all that I have suffered in
these days."

Then she fell suddenly to weeping.

"Think me not an utter coward, Lazzaro. Willingly would I do this thing
to save so noble a life as yours, did I not think that you must hate
me for it. I was stout and firm in my refusal, confident that you would
have had me so. Was I not right, my poor, poor Lazzaro?"

"Madonna, you were right," I answered firmly and calmly.

"And you are to die, amor mio," she murmured passionately. "You are to
die when the promise of happiness seemed held out to us. And yet, were
you to live at the price at which life is offered you, would your life
be endurable? Tell me the truth, Lazzaro; swear it to me. For if life is
the dearer thing to you, why then, you shall have your life."

"Need you ask me, Paola?" questioned I. "Does not your heart tell
you how much easier is death than would be such life as I must lead
hereafter, even if we could trust Ramiro, which we cannot. Be brave,
Madonna, and help me to be brave and to bear thyself with a becoming
fortitude. Now listen to what I have to tell you. Ramiro del' Orca is a
traitor who is plotting the death of his overlord. Proofs of it are by
now in the hands of Cesare Borgia, and in some seven or eight hours the
Duke himself should be here to put this monster to the question touching
these matters. I will say a word in his ear ere I depart that will fill
his mind with a very wholesome fear, and you