He came into the room rubbing his hands, half scolding, half laughing, with the drops of melted snow yet shining on his furred robe from his walk across the garden. I saw him halt on the threshold and look about him, prepared to call "Hola!" once again. I saw his eyes fall on the corpse dangling from the chandelier, fix themselves on it, and slowly freeze. I saw him take one tottering step forward; and then, from an alcove, Marc'antonio and Stephanu stepped quietly out and posted themselves between him and retreat. "It will be best done quietly," said Marc'antonio. "The Cavalier, there"--he pointed to me--"has the true crown, and will carry it to good keeping. You will pardon us, O Cavalier, that we were forced to tell the Princess an untruth this evening; but right is right, and we could not permit her to interfere." In all my life I have never seen such a face as the Prince turned upon us, knowing that he must die. The face grinning from the chandelier was scarcely less horrible. He put up a hand to it. "Not here!" he managed to say. "In the next room--not here!" "As your highness wishes." Marc'antonio let him pass into the workshop and he stood before the brazier, stretching out his palms as though to warm them. "These!" he whispered hoarsely, pointing to the instruments on the brazier. "Your Highness misunderstands. We are not torturers, we of the Colonne," answered Marc'antonio, gravely. A clock on the mantelpiece tinkled out the hour of nine. "No, nor shall be murderers," I interposed. "The Princess is yet your mistress, O Marc'antonio, and I am her husband. In the Princess's name I command you both that you do not harm him." To my amazement the wretched youth drew himself up, his cowardice gone, his face twisted with sudden venomous passion. "_You? You_ will protect me? Dog, I can die, but not owe _that!_" I leapt forward, disregarding him, seeing that Marc'antonio's hand was lifted, and that in it a dagger glittered. But before I could leap the Prince had snatched one of the steel rods from the brazier-- a charcoal rake. And as I struck up Marc'antonio's arm, the rake crashed down on my skull, tearing the scalp with its white-hot teeth. I staggered back with both hands held to my head. I did not see the stroke itself; but between my spread fingers I saw the Prince sink to the floor with the handle of Marc'antonio's dagger between his shoulder-blades. I saw the blood gush from his mouth. And with that I heard scream after scream from the doorway where Bianca stood swaying, and shouts from the garden answering her screams. "Foolish girl!" said Marc'antonio, quietly. "And yet, perhaps, so best!"