“Your hero seems none so heroic after all,” he said derisively to the Governor. “The imminence of death makes him amenable.”
Ramiro scowled on him for answer. Then, turning to me—“Do you think you could bend her stubbornness?” quoth he.
“I might attempt it,” answered I.
His eyes flashed with evil hope; his lips parted in a smile. He shot a glance at Madonna, who had withdrawn her hands from her face and was regarding me now with a strange expression of horror and incredulity—marvelling, no doubt, to find me such a craven as I must have seemed.
Ramiro looked at the diminishing sunlight on the floor.
“In some five minutes the sun will have completely set,” said he. “Those five minutes you shall have to seek to enlist Madonna’s aid on your behalf. If you succeed—and she may tell you on what terms you are to have your life—you shall depart from Cesena to-night a free man.”
He paused a moment, and his eyes, lighted by an odious smile, rested once more on Madonna Paula. Then he bade all withdraw, and went with them into an adjoining chamber, fondly nurturing the hopes that were begotten of his belief that Lazzaro Biancomonte was a villain.
When we were alone, she and I, I stood a moment where they had left me, my hands pinioned behind me, and the cord which the executioner had held trailing the ground like a lambent tail. Then I went slowly forward until I stood close before her. Her eyes were on my face, still with that same look of unbelief.
“Madonna mia,” said I, “do not for an instant think that it is my purpose to ask of you any sacrifice that might save my worthless life. Rather was my purpose in seeking these few moments with you, to strengthen and encourage you by such news as it is mine to bring.”
She looked now as if she scarcely understood.