Then, as Grete made no reply, she continued with the same passionate vehemence: "Is it not horrible to think that brave men must be butchered like cattle, because they trusted in the oath of a perjurer? ... Oh! that all the baseness, all the lying should be on one side and all the heroism on the other! and that God should allow those monsters to triumph!..." She paused and suddenly her whole expression changed--the vehemence, the passion went out of it ... her lips ceased to quiver, a curious pallor overspread her cheeks and the lines of her mouth became hard and set. "Grete," she said abruptly, "art afraid?" "Of what, noble lady?" asked the child. "Oh! of everything ... of insults and violence and death?" "No, noble lady," said Grete simply. "I trust to God to protect me." "Then wilt come with me?" "Whither, noble lady?" "Into the city ... alone with me ... we’ll pretend that we go to Benediction...." "Into the city...?" exclaimed the girl. "Alone?" "Art afraid?" "No." "Then put up my hair and get hood and cloak and give me mine...." Grete did as she was ordered. She pinned up Lenora’s fair hair and brought her a mantle and hood and wrapped them round her: then she fastened on her own. "Come!" said Lenora curtly. She took the girl by the hand and together the two women went out of the room. Their way led them through endless corridors and down a long, winding staircase; hand in hand they ran like furtive little animals on the watch for the human enemy. Down below the big flagged hall was full of soldiers: the two women only realised this when they reached the last landing. "Will they let us pass?" murmured Grete. "Walk beside me and hold thy head boldly," said Lenora, "they must not think that we are afraid of being challenged." She walked down the last flight of the stairs with slow majestic steps: her arms folded beneath her cloak, looking straight ahead of her with that air of calm detachment and contempt of others which the Spanish _noblesse_ knew so well how to assume. Captain de Avila was below: at sight of donna Lenora he came forward and said with absolute respect: "La señora desires to go out?" "As you see," she replied haughtily. "Not further than the precincts of the Kasteel, I hope." "What is that to you, whither I go?" she queried. "My orders..." he stammered, somewhat taken aback by this grand manner on the part of the señora who had always been so meek and silent hitherto. "What orders have you had, seigneur capitaine?" she queried, "which warrant your interference with my movements?" "I ... truly..." he murmured, "señor de Vargas..." "My father, I presume, has not given you the right to question my freedom to go and come as I please," she retorted, still with the same uncompromising hauteur. "No ... but..." "Then I pray you let me pass.... I hear the bells of St. Pharaïlde ... I shall be late for Benediction...."