Perpetua answered him, steadfast in scorn, “You are as foolish as you are cruel, and you weary me.”
Hildebrand turned to Lycabetta. “Daughter of Venus,” he said, “a few paces hence you will find the northern soldier whose kisses you relish. Bring him here with his company.”
Lycabetta went a little way nearer to Perpetua and stared at her. “You must be a witch,” she said, “for you make men mad for you. I cannot see your marvel.” Then she went out of the church.
“I will appeal to Syracuse,” Perpetua cried to Hildebrand. She seized the rope of the great bell and tugged at it. The deep note of the bell was heard booming out over the city, to be answered almost immediately by the hum of voices and the hurry of feet.
“Now you are doomed indeed,” Hildebrand commented, ironically.
Perpetua still tugged at the bell.
“Syracuse will defend me,” she asserted, brave against danger.
“Syracuse will do nothing,” Hildebrand said, confidently.
Even as he spoke the sea-door was flung open and a mob of people flooded the church, bearing Hieronymus in their midst. At the same moment through the side door Sigurd entered with his soldiers, followed by Lycabetta.