"Tidings, my lord!"
"I listen!"—
The horseman looked for a moment in Francesco's face but, hardened as he was, he dared not abide the trial. There was such a stare of desperate calm in the dark eyes, that his courage failed and quailed from the truth. He hung his head and stood mute.
"I listen—"
"My lord—"
"For God's sake, speak out!"
"My lord—"
"The truth!"—
"She lives—"
A great silence fell within the hearts of the three, an ecstasy of silence, such as comes after the wail of a storm. The duke's lips were compressed, as if he feared to give expression to his feelings. Francesco's face was as the face of one who thrusts back hope out of his soul. He sat rigid on his horse, a stone image fronting Fate, grim-eyed and steadfast. All his life had been one long sacrifice, one long denial,—had it all been in vain?