“I would shake off my fears if I could,” said the countess. “But I find it impossible. Had I expected you, it might have been otherwise. But you have taken me so by surprise, that I cannot master my emotion.”
“How could I prepare you for my coming, Beata?” said Bonnivet. “I have long nourished the design, but the means of executing it only occurred to-day, when this safe-conduct fell into my hands. Then I resolved—cost what it might!—that I would behold you again. Mounted on a swift steed, I left Abbiate-Grasso at nightfall, attended only by a single esquire, and I hope to be back at the camp before my absence is discovered.”
“Heaven grant you may!” she ejaculated.
“My steed seemed to know the errand on which he was bent, and bore me on with wondrous speed; but if he sympathises with his master, he will not have the same spirit on his return. It is strange, Beata—now that the long wished-for moment has arrived—now that I am here—I cannot realise my happiness. It seems like a dream.”
“Holy Virgin! what is that?” exclaimed Beata, as the trampling of horses was heard in the Corso.
“Merely the patrol,” replied Bonnivet.
“No; it is not the patrol!” she cried. “The troop has stopped at the gates of the palace. Stay where you are! I will see what it means.”
So saying, she flew to the balcony, and presently returned with a cheek blanched with terror.
“Heaven preserve us!” she exclaimed. “It is the Duke of Milan, with a large escort.”
“The Duke of Milan!” exclaimed Bonnivet. “What can bring him here at this hour?”