'Thou? Again? And wherefore?'
He raised his head slowly and threw back the cowl, and showed the visage of Gian Galeazzo Sforza, the murdered duke. The face had nothing in it corpse-like, nothing appalling, and he spoke gently and distinctly:
'Poor thing! Poor woman! Pardon me!'
He made a step towards her, and she felt a freezing and unearthly cold. She shrieked, and fell unconscious to the earth.
Ricciardetto heard the cry and ran to her succour. When he saw his beloved mistress stretched senseless, he too shrieked, rushed away along the dark galleries, where at long intervals sentries stood holding dim lanterns, then into the crowded guest-chambers seeking the Duke, and crying wildly:
'Help! Help!'
It was midnight, and the revelry was at its height. The modish dance called 'Fedeli Amanti' had just begun. In it lady and cavalier must pass under an arch upon which stood the Genius of Love blowing a trumpet; at its foot were judges; and when true lovers approached, the Genius greeted them with tender strains, and the judges smiled and applauded and let them pass; but the untrue were hindered, and the trumpet stunned them with terrible noise, the judges pelted them with hail of confetti, and the luckless couple, loudly bemocked, were forced to turn and flee.
The Duke, to sweetest strains like the cooing of doves, had just made his passage of the arch, when, the crowd parting in dismay to admit his approach, Ricciardetto hurled himself at his master, still shrieking his wild, 'Help! Help!'
Ludovico laid a hand upon his shoulder.
'What is it? What has happened?'