"And allow that insolent man to triumph?" added Gothelindis indignantly. But Petros laughed; his whole face beamed with the ecstasy of victorious cunning. "Be quiet," he said. "This time the invincible Cethegus is conquered by Petros, at whom he has always scoffed." He took Theodahad and Gothelindis each by the hand, drew them close to him, looked round, and then whispered: "At the commencement of the message to Belisarius I have placed a small spot, which means: 'All that I have written is not meant in earnest, and is null.' Yes, yes; one learns the art of writing at the court of Byzantium!" CHAPTER IV. Amalaswintha passed the two days following this midnight interview in a sort of real or imagined imprisonment. Whenever she left her chamber, whenever she turned the corner of one of the passages of the palace, she fancied that some one followed or accompanied her, now appearing, now slipping past her, now disappearing, and seemingly as eager to watch all her movements as to avoid her notice. She could not even descend to the tomb of her son unobserved. In vain she asked for Witichis or Teja; they had left the city the morning after the coronation, by order of the King. The feeling that she was alone, surrounded by lurking enemies, filled her mind with vague alarms. Heavily and darkly the autumn rain-clouds hung over Ravenna, as Amalaswintha rose from her sleepless couch on the morning of the third day. It affected her disagreeably when, upon going to the window of sparry gypsum, a raven rose cawing from the marble sill, and flew slowly over the garden with hoarse cries, heavily flapping its wings. The Princess felt how much her nerves had been tried by the last few days of pain, fear, and remorse; for she could not resist the dismal impression made upon her by the early autumn mists, which rose from the lagoons of the harbour city. She looked at the grey and marshy landscape with a deep sigh. Her heart was heavy with care and remorse. Her only hope lay in the thought of saving the kingdom at the cost of her own life, by frankly accusing and humiliating herself before the whole nation. She did not doubt that the relations and blood-avengers of the murdered dukes would strictly fulfil their duty. Buried in such reflections, she went through the empty halls and corridors of the palace--this time, as she believed, unobserved--to the resting-place of her son, in order to confirm herself, with prayer and penitence, in her pious resolution. As, after some time had elapsed, she re-ascended from the vault and turned into a gloomy arched passage, a man in the habit of a slave stepped out of a niche--she thought that she had often seen his face before--and put into her hand a little wax tablet, immediately disappearing into a side passage. She at once recognised the handwriting of Cassiodorus. And now she guessed who was the secret messenger. It was Dolios, the letter-carrier of her faithful minister.