He looked at Zoë again, but in his eyes her beauty was all gone at once. She was one of those monsters that were always conspiring against him, against his throne and his life; she was one of those thousands whom he saw nightly in his dreams of fear, stealing upon him when he was alone and helpless, to blind him and kill him, and to bear his crowned father to the throne high on their shoulders. Zoë might have been as lovely as Aphrodite herself, just wafted from the foam of the sea by the breath of spring; to Andronicus she would have been but one of the countless evil beings who for ever plotted his destruction. But this one was in his power. He sat on his horse and looked down at her, and his loose lips smiled; yet her face was still and proud, and in her poor blue cotton slave's dress she faced him like a young goddess. 'Who sent you with this?' he asked in the deep silence, and every man there listened for her answer. 'Since you have read it, you know,' she answered, and there was no tremor in her voice. 'Take care! Where is this Venetian, this Zeno?' 'I do not know.' 'Take care, again! I ask, where is he?' Zoë was silent for a moment, and though she did not take her eyes from the young Emperor's face she listened intently for a distant sound that did not come. 'I do not know where he is,' she said at last, 'but I think you will see him before long, for he is coming here.' 'Here?' Andronicus was taken by surprise. 'Here?' he repeated in wonder. 'Yes, here,' Zoë answered, 'and soon. He has business here to-night.' 'The girl is mad,' said the Emperor, looking towards the ministers. 'Quite mad, your august Majesty,' said one. 'Evidently out of her mind, Sire,' echoed the other. 'It will be well to put out her eyes and let her go.' The one who had spoken first, the fawning Greek, made a sign to an officer near him, and the latter gave an order to one of the running footmen who stood waiting. The latter instantly ran in through the great open doorway of the palace. Where Andronicus was, the torturer was never hard to find. 'And pray,' asked the Emperor, with an ugly smile, 'what possible business can a Venetian merchant have here at this hour? Will you please to tell us?' 'A business that will be soon despatched, if God will,' answered Zoë. She could not look away from the man who had murdered Michael Rhangabé, and though she knew what she was risking if she did not gain time, the longing for just vengeance was too strong for her, so that she could not control her speech, and in her clear young voice Andronicus heard an accent that struck terror to his heart. 'She is not mad!' he exclaimed in sudden anxiety. 'She knows something! Make her speak!'