Dama Margherita had but just withdrawn when the uproar in the streets began and she rushed back at once to her Lady's side. The sounds came muffled through the massive walls of the castle for there was no outlook on the Piazza; it was the low muttering of a storm, none the less terrible because undeclared. But there could be no mistaking the dread clangor of the bell, and the two young, helpless women clung to each other in trembling silence.
Caterina was the first to recover her composure; she made a pathetic effort to steady her voice as she spoke.
"Margherita, I must know at once what this meaneth. If one of the Council would come to me—there is always one in the Castle—my Uncle Andrea—or the Councillor Zaffo—I would they had not sent Aluisi and the Zia back to the palace!—and—and—I will go to the Boy."
"Dear Lady," Margherita besought her. "Let me rather bring him hither. The Council will be coming at once—they would rather find you here. I will come with the Prince and his aya, so soon as I shall have found one of the Council. Your Majesty will not fear to be left alone?"
"No: No!" Caterina hastened her with a motion of her hand. "The others will be here; thou wilt hasten with the child—and then thou wilt leave me no more!"
But Dama Margherita was already far down the narrow stone corridor, beyond hearing the confession of failing courage which would have brought her instantly back, when a tapestry was thrust hastily aside, and Maestro Gentile, the old white-haired physician, fully armed, but with the air of a hunted man, tottered into the room.
"They seek my life," he gasped, "I know not why. I came through the terror lest your Majesty should need me—for it is a night!—San Nicolò save us!"
"Madonna mia!" the Queen cried piteously with clasped hands, "I do not understand!"
"It is the time for reckoning, fair Majesty; and those who have the power shall rule."
The Archbishop of Nikosia had entered the Queen's apartment unperceived and stood watching her with eyes of triumph.