’No lie,’ he answered, squatting, reassured, on his hams. ’’Twas Messer Tassino, no less, that carried thy token to Vigevano. ’Twas no later than yesternight I met our fine cockerel louping from the stews. A’ was drunk as father Noah—babbled and blabbed, a’ did—perked up a’s comb, and cursed me for presuming fellowship with a duke’s minion. I plied him further, e’en to tears and confidence—had it all out of him; how a’d carried the ring for Messer Ludovic, and brought back the deadly order. Jacopo nipped the Saint that noon. A’s singing in paradise these days past.’ Beatrice stood and listened. A dreadful smile was on her lips. But, when she spoke, it was with wooing softness. ’Good trust—always the faithful trust. Why, Narcisso, what should I do betraying thee? We’ll work and end together, and take our wages. Dead, do you say? Why, then, all’s said. Now go, and tuck thyself within the roof till the storm pass. This lightning’s all below. Go, comrade, do you hear?’ He dwelt a moment only to gasp and mumble out his thanks; then turned and slouched away. For minutes she dwelt as he had left her, rigid, smiling, bloodless. Presently, still standing motionless, she moved her lips and was muttering:— ’Dead? So swift? Made sure against all chances? Starved? He said starved. Not to that I betrayed him. Inhuman hound! Thou mightst have spared him bread!—left sorrow and cold durance to work their lingering end. What then? Why, Bona then—Bona made widow; free to work her will. Should _I_ be the better?—Dead? was he not always dead to me? Starved to death! O, hell heat Lampugnani’s dagger scarlet, that it hiss and bubble in his flesh! Galeazzo! Galeazzo! I’ll follow soon to nurse thy pains to ecstasy!’ She fell silent; presently began to sway; then, with a sudden shriek, had leapt upon the picture, and torn aside its curtain. ’Bernardo!’ she moaned and sobbed—’Bernardo, I loved thee! O God! he eats me with his eyes. Here, here! fasten with thy starved lips. I’ll not speak or cry, though they burrow to my heart. All thine—hold on—I’ll smile and pet mine agony—Bernardo——!’ In the tumult of her passion she heard a sound at the door; caught her breath; caught herself to knowledge of herself, and, instinctively closing the curtain, stood panting, dishevelled, its hem in her hand. Someone, something, had entered—a haggard, unshorn ghost of ancient days. It came very softly, closing the door behind; then, set and silent, moved upon her. Her pulses seemed to sink and wither. ’Carlo!’ she shuddered softly. It was fearful that the thing never spoke as it came on. Nor did she speak again. Love that has once joined keeps understanding without words. What has it bred but death? Here was the natural fruit of a sin matured—she saw it gleam suddenly in his clutch.