"She's still here, lord?" he cried out, almost before he had entered. "The woman is here? You have not let her go?" His gaze searched the hut swiftly.
"She is here," said Zuan Gradenigo, "but you will speak more respectfully. Give me the garments!" The man's excitement was too great to heed reproofs. He thrust the things he held into his master's arms.
"See!" he cried. "See the girdle—the necklace—the charm she wore about her neck! See whom we have taken!"
Young Zuan looked at the jewels, and they slipped from his fingers and fell, flashing in the light, and lay about his feet. He turned very slowly towards the girl, who stood against the farther side of the wall, and his eyes were once more like a child's eyes—bewildered, hurt, uncomprehending. He stretched out a hand towards her, and the hand shook and wavered.
"It is the princess herself!" cried the lieutenant. "It is Yaga!" and fell into a chattering, hysterical laugh.
"It is not—true," whispered Zuan Gradenigo, across the little room. "Say it is not true!" His voice rose to a sharp, agonized appeal, but there was no conviction in his tone. He knew.
At the name the girl had cried out suddenly, and to smother the cry she caught her two hands up to her mouth. Even then her eyes went from one man to the other, swift and keen.
"Say it is not true!" pleaded Zuan Gradenigo, but the lieutenant babbled on, stammering in his excitement.
"See, Messer Zuan! We have her! We have her fast! Why not set sail at once with her on board—at once, before they in the city know she is taken? Why not? See! they are helpless without her. We can force them to give up Arbe for her. She is worth fifty Arbes to them—all of Dalmatia, perhaps. Why not do that? Messer Lupo's galley has not come, nor the other. We can do nothing alone. Take her on board, lord, before it is too late, and set sail. Leave Arbe to itself for a little. The Huns will give it up to us. Come, come!"