"There are always rumors that mean nothing," said Eloisà quietly.
Dama Margherita had been kept in close attendance upon the Queen, who had been often in counsel with the Counts of the Chamber of late, and Eloisà had an uneasy sense that it devolved upon her to uphold the quietness of discussion for which Dama Margherita always strove.
"Nay, Eloisà—that strange craft, hiding back of the great rock on the coast—without lights or colors—why was it anchored there, in sight of the signal-fire, instead of in the port where it had been safer?"
"Thou wilt have it a beacon-fire," Eloisà interposed again; "it is in truth more romantic than a blaze some wanderer may have lighted to do duty for his camp."
But no one answered her, they were all humming about Dama Ecciva, interrupting each other with excited questions; for Dama Ecciva had been, if possible, more mysterious and tantalizing than ever since these rumors had been afloat—which was a sign that she could tell something if she would. "So, my pretty friends!" she answered with a silvery laugh, "for once it entereth your thought that there be matters about which we—the Maids of honor of Her Majesty—are not worthy to hear!"
"I make exception of the Dama Margherita, to whom Her Majesty is honey-sweet!" she added, as her glance rested on Eloisà; and growing hot as she dwelt upon the thought, she went on—"she hath a manner quite insufferable—she, who hath not more right than I to rule this court. If one were to put the question to our knights—'an Iblin or a de Montferrat?' would it make a pretty tourney for a Cyprian holiday?"
She laughed a mocking, malicious laugh; then suddenly stretched out one slender hand and made a descriptive motion as of tossing her glove into the centre of a distant circle—her eyelids narrowing until they seemed almost to close—a strange light escaping from them—her breath coming with slow pants, as if from suffocation—the hand dropped at her side betraying her passion by convulsive movements trembling through the tinted finger-tips.
In the bizarre Cyprian costume which many of the ancient Greek patricians still retained, she seemed of a different mold from the young Venetian gentlewomen of the court of Caterina—like some fantastic fury, half-elf, half-woman.
"The Melusina!" Eloisà whispered, shuddering: "thou mindest me of her. I like thee not in this strange mood!" while the others drew away from her with a faint cry of protest.
But Ecciva's momentary mood of passion passed as quickly as it came; and she answered her companions with a tantalizing, sparkling smile, rallying them on their seriousness, and flashing whimsicalities around the circle like some splendid, inconsequent fire-fly.