Throughout the trial, the splendid assembly followed every phase with breathless attention, yet with conflicting emotions,—for the prisoner was one of their peers and all felt the case to be momentous; while, as the masterly arguments proceeded, and the evidence seemed irrefutable, perhaps few among them could have determined how it should be most wisely decided, in view of the waverings and discontent which had threatened to undermine the Government.
And now the judges and the learned men had withdrawn for private consultation, and the assembly waited for the verdict in a hush through which one might have counted the heart-beats sounding in tumultuous rhythm; but the girlish prisoner still kept her defiant attitude—tapping the pavement impatiently with her tiny booted foot—as making light of any crime that might be imputed to Dama Ecciva de Montferrat.
Then, more swiftly than one might tell it, a blaze of irrepressible human passion broke upon the decorous quiet of the Chamber; the nobles sprang to their feet, struggling for expression; for the awful announcement "Guilty," although they had awaited it, brought a sudden desperate realization of the fearful consequences, as, almost without pause, the penalty was declared and a piercing shriek rent the air.
"Not death!—Holy Saints—Not Death!"
They could see the sinuous figure writhing and panting convulsively under her wrappings, then tearing her veil like a frenzied woman, as she sank fainting upon the pavement; and the crowd made way in awe-struck silence for the Lady Beata with the maidens of the court who closed about the tortured figure in shielding ministration.
A stately patrician robed in black, fought her way through the excited throng to the steps of the throne, and threw herself at the feet of the Queen.
"Have mercy!" she cried; "she is too young to die! Take my life for hers—she is my child!"
A messenger was crossing the chamber from the judge's throne, bearing a parchment tied in black, a portentous seal depending from the ribbon. It was the first time that a death-warrant had been presented for the Queen's signature, and she was visibly agitated.
The agonized mother at her feet kept up her passionate entreaties.
Caterina started up pale and trembling, holding out her hand to the kneeling figure and drawing her forward: