The old man showed them the other rooms of the apartment and left them. At the door he turned back and said,—
"I should not advise the lady to sleep here; the miasma from the forest is very fatal to such as are not used to it."
Inglesant looked at him, but could not perceive that he intended his word to have any deeper meaning than the obvious one. He said,—
"We shall stay only an hour or two; let the horses be ready to go on."
The man left them, and they sat down at the table.
The repast was served in Faience ware of a strange delicate blue, and consisted of most of the delicacies of the season with a profusion of wine.
"This was not ordered by the Duchess," said Lauretta.
"We are safe from poison, Mignone," said Inglesant; "to destroy you as well as me would defeat all purposes. Not that I believe the Cavaliere would wish me dead. He rather hopes that I may be of use to him. Let us drink to him."
And he filled a glass for Lauretta of the Monte-pulciano, the "King of Wines," and drank himself.
Lauretta was evidently frightened, yet she followed his example and drank. The night air was heavy and close, not a breath of wind stirred the lights, though every window was thrown open, and the shutters that closed the loggia outside were drawn back. In the brilliant moonlight every leaf of the great forest shone with an unnatural distinctness, which, set in a perfect silence, became terrible to see. The sylvan arcades seemed like a painted scene-piece upon a Satanic stage, supernaturally alight to further deeds of sin, and silent and unpeopled, lest the wrong should be interrupted or checked. To Inglesant's excited fancy evil beings thronged its shadowy paths, present to the spiritual sense, though concealed of set purpose from the feeble human sight. The two found their eyes drawn with a kind of fascination to this strange sight, and Inglesant arose and closed the shutters before the nearest casement.