"No, it's guarded."
These loquacious persons turned off to make the western gate; but the woman in brown kept on, and ere long was brought to the grand stand on the north. An arched tunnel, amply wide, ran under it, with a gate at the further end admitting directly to the arena. A soldier of the foreign legion held the mouth of the tunnel.
"Good friend," she began, in a low, beseeching tone, "is the heretic who is to suffer here yet?"
"He was brought out last night."
"Poor man! I am a friend of his"—her voice trembled—"may I see him?"
"My orders are to admit no one—and I do not know which cell he is in."
The supplicant, sobbing and wringing her hands, stood awhile silent. Then a roar, very deep and hoarse, apparently from the arena, startled her and she trembled.
"Tamerlane!" said the soldier.
"O God!" she exclaimed. "Is the lion turned in already?"
"Not yet. He is in his den. They have not fed him for three days."