caleone, by the postern."

There was a hoarse cry from the men, which Francesco silenced by a wave
of his mailed hand.

Valentina looked wildly at Fortemani, and then, as if drawn by a greater
will than her own, her eyes were forced to travel to the Count. He
instantly advanced, and bowed his head before her.

"Madonna, this is no hour for explanations. Action is needed, and that
at once. I was wrong in not disclosing my identity to you before you
discovered it by such unfortunate means and with the assistance of the
only traitor Roccaleone has harboured, Romeo Gonzaga--who, as Fortemani
has just told you, is at this moment admitting my cousin and your uncle
to the castle. But that my object was ever other than to serve you, or
that I sought, as was represented to you, to turn this siege to my own
political profit, that, Madonna, I implore you in your own interests to
believe untrue."

She sank on to her knees and with folded hands began to pray to the
Mother of Mercy, deeming herself lost, for his tone carried conviction,
and he had said that Gian Maria was entering the castle.

"Madonna," he cried, touching her lightly on the shoulder; "let your
prayers wait until they can be of thanksgiving. Listen. By the vigilance
of Peppe there, who, good soul that he is, never lost faith in me or
deemed me a dastard, we were informed last night--Fortemani and I--of
this that Gonzaga was preparing. And we have made our plans and prepared
the ground. When Gian Maria's soldiers enter, they will find the outer
doors barred and locked, and we shall gain a little time while they
break through them. My men, as you will observe, are even now barring
the door of the chapel to impose a further obstacle. Now while they are
thus engaged we must act. Briefly, then, if you will trust us we will
bear you out of this, for we four have worked through the night to some
purpose."

She looked at him through a film of tears, her face drawn and
startled. Then she put her hands to her brow in a gesture of bewildered
helplessness.

"But they will follow us," she complained.

"Not so," he answered, smiling. "For that, too, have we provided. Come,
Madonna, time presses."

A long moment she looked at him. Then brushing aside the tears that
dimmed her sight, she set a hand on either of his shoulders, and stood
so, before them all, gazing up into his calm face.

"How shall I know that what you say is true--that I may trust you?"
she asked, but h