"Then? Oh, speak!" cried Mataswintha; for she could not doubt the meaning of his unspoken thought. "I often thought amid all my doubt, that it might be a punishment for the cruel, cruel wrong I did to a noble creature; a woman whom I have sacrificed to my people----" And in the ardour of his speech he involuntarily looked at his listener. Mataswintha's cheeks glowed. She was obliged, in order to keep herself upright, to grasp the arm of the chair near her. "At last," she thought, "at last his heart awakes, and I--how have I acted towards him! And he regrets----" "A woman," continued Witichis, "who has suffered unspeakably on my account, more than words can express----" "Cease," whispered Mataswintha so softly that he did not hear it. "And when I lately saw thee so gentle, so mild, more womanly than ever before--it touched my heart, and tears came into my eyes!" "O Witichis!" breathed Mataswintha. "Every tone of thy voice penetrated deeply into my heart, for the sweet sound reminded me so vividly, so sadly----" "Of whom?" asked Mataswintha, and she turned pale as death. "Of her whom I have sacrificed! Who gave up all for me; of my wife Rauthgundis, the soul of my soul!" For how long a time had he never uttered aloud that beloved name! At the sound of his own voice, grief and longing overcame him, and sinking into a chair, he buried his face in his hands. It was well that he did so, for it spared him the sight of the Queen's sudden start, and the Medusa-like expression which convulsed her features. But the sound of a fall made him spring from his seat. Mataswintha lay upon the ground. Her left hand grasped the broken arm of the chair near which she had fallen, while her right was pressed convulsively upon the mosaic floor. Her pale face was bent down; her splendid golden hair, loosed from its bonds, flowed over her shoulders; her mobile nostrils quivered. "Queen!" cried Witichis, bending to lift her up, "what ails thee?" But before he could touch her, she started up, swift as a serpent, and stood erect. "It was only a weakness--which is already over," she panted. "Farewell!" She tottered to the door, and, closing it behind her, fell senseless into Aspa's arms. During all this time, the mysteriously threatening appearance of the atmosphere had increased. The little cloud which Cethegus had remarked the day before, had been the forerunner of an immense black wall of vapour which had arisen in the east during the night, and which, since morning, had hovered gloomily, as if brooding destruction, over the city and the greater part of the horizon. In the south, however, the sun shone with an intolerable heat from a cloudless sky. The Gothic sentries had doffed their helmets and armour; they preferred to expose themselves to the arrows of the enemy rather than suffer the unbearable heat. There was not a breath of air. The east wind, which had brought up the wall of cloud, had dropped again.