"Treason! still more treason?"
"So thou too suspectest treason?"
"It is no matter. From whom? From Byzantium? From without? From the Prefect?"
"No," the woman answered, shaking her head. "Not from without; from within. Not from a man; from a woman."
"What dost thou say?" asked Mataswintha, turning still paler. "How can a woman----"
"Injure the hero? In the devilish wickedness of her heart. Not openly, but by cunning and treachery; perhaps with secret poison, as has already happened; perhaps with secret fire."
"Hold!"
Mataswintha, who had just risen, staggered back to the table and leaned upon it. But the woman followed her and whispered softly:
"I must tell thee of an incredible, shameful act! The King and the people believe that the lightning set the magazines on fire, but I know better. And he shall know it. He shall be warned by thee, so that he may discover the rank offender. That night I saw a torch-light passing through the galleries of the magazines, and it was carried by a woman. Her hand cast it amongst the stores! Thou shudderest? Yes, a woman. Wherefore wilt thou go? Hear one other word, and I will leave thee. The name? I do not know it. But the woman fell just at my feet, and, recovering, escaped; but as she went, she lost a sign and means of recognition--this snake of emeralds."
And the woman held up a bracelet in the light of the lamp.