rayed mother. Juana, all
in white, and softly lighted by the wax candles, was standing calmly in
the centre of her chamber.

"What do you want with me?" she said.

The Marana could not repress a passing shudder.

"Perez," she asked, "has this room another issue?"

Perez made a negative gesture; confiding in that gesture, the mother
entered the room.

"Juana," she said, "I am your mother, your judge; you have placed
yourself in the only situation in which I could reveal myself to you.
You have come down to me, you, whom I thought in heaven. Ah! you have
fallen low indeed. You have a lover in this room."

"Madame, there is and can be no one but my husband," answered the girl.
"I am the Marquise de Montefiore."

"Then there are two," said Perez, in a grave voice. "He told me he was
married."

"Montefiore, my love!" cried the girl, tearing aside the curtain and
revealing the officer. "Come! they are slandering you."

The Italian appeared, pale and speechless; he saw the dagger in the
Marana's hand, and he knew her well. With one bound he sprang from the
room, crying out in a thundering voice,--

"Help! help! they are murdering a Frenchman. Soldiers of the 6th of the
line, rush for Captain Diard! Help, help!"

Perez had gripped the man and was trying to gag him with his large hand,
but the Marana stopped him, saying,--

"Bind him fast, but let him shout. Open the doors, leave them open,
and go, go, as I told you; go, all of you.--As for you," she said,
addressing Montefiore, "shout, call for help if you choose; by the
time your soldiers get here this blade will be in your heart. Are you
married? Answer."

Montefiore, who had fallen on the threshold of the door, scarcely a step
from Juana, saw nothing but the blade of the dagger, the gleam of which
blinded him.

"Has he deceived me?" said Juana, slowly. "He told me he was free."

"He told me that he was married," repeated Perez, in his solemn voice.

"Holy Virgin!" murmured Dona Lagounia.

"Answer, soul of corruption," said the Marana, in a low voice, bending
to the ear of the marquis.

"Your daughter--" began Montefiore.

"The daughter that was mine is dead or dying," interrupted the Marana.
"I have no daughter; do not utter that word. Answer, are you married?"

"No, madame," said Montefiore, at last, striving to gain time, "I desire
to marry your daughter."

"My noble Montefiore!" said Juana, drawing a deep breath.

"Then why did you attempt to