"What is he like?" shouted another.
Theodora did not heed the questions. Only her lovely face, framed by hair dark as the darkest midnight, had grown a shade more pale and pensive.
Suddenly she turned to the last questioner, a woman.
"What was he like?" she replied. "Tall, and in the prime of manhood; his face concealed by his vizor."
The woman sighed amorously. The men nodded to each other with meaning glances. The danger of the convent seemed passed.
Benilo, who during Theodora's narrative had proven an ideal listener, of a sudden clenched his fist and gazed round for the harper, who sat in a remote corner of the hall.
Another moment's musing, then the Chamberlain ground his teeth together with the fierce determination to carry out at all hazards, what he had resolved in his mind. Theodora herself was playing into his hands.
"Do you know this incomparable hero, this modern Theseus?" he drawled out slowly and with deliberate impudence, addressing the Queen of the Groves.
Theodora's gaze was sharp as steel.
"What is it to you?" she hissed.