The countess opened the sepulchre. “Listen, my son,” said she. “There are fierce and cruel people who have come hither to murder thee. Stay here in company with thy sister, and be quiet as thou dost value thy life!” The boy, who was of a courageous nature, did as he was bidden, and remained there all that day, and all the night, and the next day until the third hour. In the mean time the walls of the citadel were sapped, the troops of the emir poured in at the breach, and a great part of the garrison was put to the sword. The countess was taken prisoner, and brought before the emir. She appeared in his presence with a haughty demeanor, as if she had been a queen receiving homage; but when he demanded her son, she faltered and turned pale, and replied, “My son is with the dead.” “Countess,” said the emir, “I am not to be deceived; tell me where you have concealed the boy, or tortures shall wring from you the secret.” “Emir,” replied the countess, “may the greatest torments be my portion, both here and hereafter, if what I speak be not the truth. My darling child lies buried with the dead.” The emir was confounded by the solemnity of her words; but the withered astrologer Yuza, who stood by his side regarding the countess from beneath his bushed eyebrows, perceived trouble in her countenance and equivocation in her words. “Leave this matter to me,” whispered he to Alahor; “I will produce the child.” He ordered strict search to be made by the soldiery, and he obliged the countess to be always present. When they came to the chapel, her cheek turned pale and her lip quivered. “This,” said the subtile astrologer, “is the place of concealment!” The search throughout the chapel, however, was equally vain, and the soldiers were about to depart, when Yuza remarked a slight gleam of joy in the eye of the countess. “We are leaving our prey behind,” thought he; “the countess is exulting.” He now called to mind the words of her asseveration, that her child was with the dead. Turning suddenly to the soldiers, he ordered them to search the sepulchres. “If you find him not,” said he, “drag forth the bones of that wanton Cava, that they may be burned, and the ashes scattered to the winds.” The soldiers searched among the tombs, and found that of Florinda partly open. Within lay the boy in the sound sleep of childhood, and one of the soldiers took him gently in his arms to bear him to the emir. When the countess beheld that her child was discovered, she rushed into the presence of Alahor, and, forgetting all her pride, threw herself upon her knees before him. “Mercy! mercy!” cried she in piercing accents, “mercy on my son—my only child! O emir! listen to a mother’s prayer and my lips shall kiss thy feet. As thou art merciful to him so may the most high God have mercy upon thee, and heap blessings on thy head.” “Bear that frantic woman hence,” said the emir, “but guard her well.”