Beatrice unclasped the cincture without a word, and flung it indifferently across the table. She had lain as impassive throughout her own discussing by the others as a slave being negotiated in a market. Not a tremor of her eyelids had acknowledged either her lord’s rudeness or Bembo’s provisional compliment. The boy took up the belt and examined it. He was conscious of a sweet perfume that had come into his hands with the trinket. His lips were parted a little, his cheeks flushed. Presently he put it down softly, and looked across at Beatrice. ’It is what I thought,’ said he—’the coin, I mean—a denarius of Tiberius, in the thirty-first year of Our Lord Shall I tell you what it says to me, Madonna?’ She did not take the trouble to answer. ’Yes,’ roared Carlo. Bembo slung his lute to the front, and began coaxing forth one of those odd, shy accompaniments of his, into which, a moment later, his voice melted:— ’When Tiberius was Emperor, For thirty silver pieces bearing his image Did Judas betray his Lord; Then, himself betrayed to blood-guilt, cast them ringing On the flags of the Temple, and maddened forth and died. But the Jew elders eyed askance The sleek, round coins, accurst and yet no whit Depreciated as currency, And ogling them and each other, were silent, till one spoke: "Ill come; well sped. We need a place to bury the dead. Let the Potter take these, and in return Change us his field, o’er which we long have haggled. So shall this outlay bring us two-fold profit, Yet leave us conscience-clean before the Lord." Thus, gentles dear, was bought "The Field of Blood"; And thus the wicked, damned price returned Into the veins of traffic, there to circulate And poison where it ran. One piece found Hope, and changed was for Despair; And Charity one led to hoard for self; And one reached Faith, and Faith became a whore. But, most of all, what had betrayed Love sore, Sweet Love was used to betray for evermore.’ His voice broke on a long-drawn wailing chord. A little silence succeeded. Then, like one spent, he took up the belt and offered it to Beatrice. ’O Madonna!’ he said, ’it is a denarius of the Cæsar that betrayed Love. Take back thy wages.’ She dragged down a spray of vine-leaves, and fanned herself furiously with it, making no other response. ’So! I am Judas!’ cried Carlo; and began to bite his moustache, mouthing and glowering. ’Love!’ he sputtered, ’love! Is there no love in nature? You talk of the human God, you——’ Beatrice broke in scornfully:— ’It is the world-wisdom of the monastery. He shall sing you love only by the Litany. His queen shall be a virgin immaculate, and her bosom a shrine for the white lambs of chastity to fold in. A fine proselyte for passion’s understanding! I would not be so converted for all Palestine.’ Carlo laughed, with some fierce recovery to good-humour.