"

"I grant that, sir," said I. "It is your business, now that the
crown--with what small profit may go with it--lies under your hand,
to grasp it for Genoa. But as a soldier and a brave man, you
understand that now you must grasp it by force. God knows in what
hope, if in any, the Princess here tracked out your plot; but at
least she can compel you--I can compel you--we two, weak as we are,
can compel you--to use force. The honour of a race--and that a royal
one--shall at least not pass to you on the mere signature of that
coward sitting there." I swung round upon the Prince. "You may give
up trying to hide those papers, sir, since every one in this room
knows what compact you were in the act of signing."

The Princess stepped forward. "All this," she said to me in a low,
hard voice, "I could have done without help of you." Her tone
promised that she would never forgive, but she looked only at her
brother. "Camillo," she said, standing before him, "this Englishman
has said only what I came to say. It is not my fault that he is here
and has guessed. When I was sure, I hid my knowledge even from
Marc'antonio and Stephanu; and he--he shall die for having
overheard. The Genoese will see to that, and the Commandant, as he
is a gentleman, will write in his report that he took the crown from
us, having caught us at unawares. . . . I cannot shoot you, my
brother. Even you would not ask this of me--of me that have served
you, and that serve you now in the end. . . . See, I make no
reproaches. . . . We were badly brought up, we two, and when you were
young and helpless, vile men took hold on you and taught you to be
capable of--of this thing. But we are Colonne, we two, and can end
as Colonne." She dipped a hand within the bosom of her bodice and
drew out a phial. "Dear, I will drink after you. It will not be
hard; no, believe me, it will not be so very hard--a moment, a pang
perhaps, and everything will yet be saved. O brother, what is a
pang, a moment, that you can weigh it against a lifetime of
dishonour!"

The Prince sprang up cursing.

"Dishonour? And who are you that talk to me of dishonour?--you that
come straying here out of the night with your _cicisbeo_ at your
heels? You, with the dew on you and your dress bedraggled, arrive
straight from companioning in the woods and prate to me of shame--of
the blood of the Colonne!" He smote a hand on the table and spat
forth a string of vile names upon