Directly beneath where he stood a scribe was haranguing the crowds, descanting on the ancient glory of the Romans and exhorting his listeners to exterminate all foreigners. From Castel San Angelo came an incessant sound of trumpets, which, mingling with the brazen roar of bells seemed to shake the earth. Torches lighted the streets with their smoky crimson glare. People hurried hither and thither, jostling, pushing, trampling upon each other like black shadows, like living phantoms. The fiery glow, the voices of the angry mob, the pealing of the bells,—they all struck Stephania's heart with a thousand talons of remorse and shame. Fearstruck and trembling, she gazed into the pale face of Theophano's son.
Otto was watching the distant pandemonium as one would gaze upon some strange, hideous ceremonial of occult meaning,—then he turned slowly to Stephania.
For a moment they faced each other in silence, then he stroked the disordered hair from his forehead like one waking from a dream.
"You have betrayed me."
Her lips were tightly compressed; she made no reply.
The next moment he was on his knees before her.
"Forgive me, forgive me," he faltered, "I knew not what I said!"
She breathed hard. For a moment she closed her eyes in mortal anguish.
"Then you still believe in me?" She spoke hardly above a whisper.
"With all my heart," he replied, grasping her hands and covering them with kisses. For a moment she suffered him to exhaust his endearments, then she jerked them away from him.