again, and being a
man whose mind was above puerile superstitions, he assured himself that
by what miracle the thing was wrought, the figure before him was the
living body of Madonna Paola Sforza di Santafior. He swept the velvet
cap with its jewelled plume from off his auburn locks, and bowed low
before her.

"In God's name, Madonna, how are you come to life again, and how do I
find you here of all places?"

She made no ado about enlightening him.

"That villain," said she, and her finger pointed straight and firmly
at Ramiro, "put a sleeping-potion in my wine on the last night he dined
with us at Pesaro, and when all thought me dead he came to the Church of
San Domenico with his men to carry off my sleeping body. He would have
succeeded in his fell design but that Lazzaro Biancomonte there, whom
you have stayed him in the act of torturing to death, was beforehand
and saved me from his clutches for a time. This morning at Cattolica his
searching sbirri discovered me and brought me hither, where I have been
for the past three hours, and where, but for your Excellency's timely
arrival, I shudder to think of the indignities I might have suffered."

"I thank you, Madonna, for this clear succinctness," answered Cesare
coldly, as was his habit. They say he was a passionate man, and such
indeed I do believe him to have been; but even in the hottest frenzy of
rage, outwardly he was ever the same--icily cold and tranquil. And this,
no doubt, was the thing that made him terrible.

"Presently, Madonna," he pursued, "I shall ask you to tell me how it
chanced that, having saved you, Messer Biancomonte did not bear you
to your brother's house. But first I have business with my Governor of
Cesena--a score which is rendered, if possible, heavier than it already
stood by this thing that you have told me."

"My lord," cried out Ramiro, finding his tongue at last, "Madonna has
misinformed you. I know nothing of who administered the sleeping-potion.
Certainly it was not I. I heard a rumour that her body had been stolen,
and--"

"Silence!" Cesare commanded sternly. "Did I question you, dog?"

His beautiful, terrible eyes fastened upon Ramiro in a glance that
defied the man to answer him. Cowed, like a hound at sight of the whip,
Ramiro whimpered into silence.

Cesare waved his hand in his direction, half-turning to the men-at-arms
behind him.

"Take and disarm him," was his passionless command. And while they were
doing his b