The woman was advancing slowly into the room. It was Jane, the housekeeper, in a masquerade. Her eyes were alive with mania. The hollow cheeks were crazily rouged. The awkward body and the skinny hands had become curiously graceful. Behind the crazed make-believe of the creature loomed a startling personality. Pride, terror and strength mingled in the flashing, charcoaled eyes. She continued to move gracefully toward the two men. In the center of the room she paused. Looking about her, she spoke in a vibrant, throaty voice that shot a thrill through her two intent listeners.
“I conjure you,” she cried, “save him. I have come to you with my heart in my hand.”
Her eyes slowly focused upon De Medici. He was standing in front of her, regarding her with a puzzled attentiveness.
“You will save him, Baron. You must. You alone can do that. See how I have humbled myself and come to you.”
De Medici’s face lighted. He became suddenly alive.
“Quick, doctor. In the kitchen,” he whispered. “Bring some plates and a bottle. Put them on the table here.”
Dr. Lytton, his previous indignation vanished, slipped from the room. A vague and exciting understanding had come to him. De Medici cleared the table hastily and lighted the candlesticks. As he did, his fingers snapped the electric switch and the room dropped into a yellow shadowed darkness. Dr. Lytton returned with his arms loaded.
“Set the table as if for a meal,” murmured De Medici, his eyes holding the stare of the woman, “and bring a knife. A long knife.”
The woman, oblivious to these maneuvers, had begun to talk once more.