'Madonna! madonna!' she cried; 'there! down by the great door! O Lord, have pity on us sinners!'
'Speak!' said the Duke, 'who is at the great door?'
'Beatrice, the Duchess.'
Il Moro turned pale.
'The key! Quick, the key of the little door! I will go through the courtyard. Give me the key—at once.'
'But the cavaliers of Madonna Beatrice are surrounding the house!' cried the servant, wringing her hands.
'Then it's a trap,' said the Duke rubbing his brow. But how has she come by the knowledge? Who can have told her?'
'Surely Monna Sidonia, the accursed witch who creeps in to vex us with her unguents and her phials. I warned you, Madonna, to beware of her.'
'What's to be done? Dio mio! What's to be done?' muttered the Duke, ever paler.
From the street came a violent knocking on the great door and the servant rushed to the staircase.