And she had looked at him, with a sudden catch at her heart, though the flame of defiance in her still flickered.
“I thank you, Messer. For when is my doom pronounced?”
Whereat the envoy had raised one white hand ineffably.
“Alas, Madonna! Is our dear prince’s tender consideration so hurtful? Even now he waits to welcome you.”
Then she had put out entreating arms to him.
“Messer—a little time to prepare—to say goodbye. I have a son, Messer, a very little child. Look, this is the Vecchio, is it not—the Duke’s palace? I am quite alone in my corner of it, caged, shunned like a leper, yet my every exit from it is guarded. Give me this night in which to part seemingly with all I have left to love on earth.”
His laugh had sounded like the tinkle of ice on glass.
“Love? You wilfully postpone it, madam. Yet will I venture to enlarge upon my credentials to the extent your Grace demands. To-morrow——”
“I will deliver myself without fail to the sacrifice, Messer.”
And, with a patient, deprecating shrug, in which shoulders, eyebrows, and lips were all included, he had made his profound obeisance, and left her. And then!