The words of the Chevalier were wild; but he spoke them heartily, and his manner was sincere. For the outward act too--it was at some hazard--and the plague still raging--that he had returned to Florence. It was at some hazard that he stood, even at that moment, unaided, and almost unarmed, within walls where but a whisper of his name would have armed an hundred swords against his life. But Perline di Francavilla lived!--the Countess saw but that--would live and triumph--when she should be no more--despised--forgotten. The helplessness--the hopelessness--of all defence against such a consummation--the very sense of that helplessness seemed to exasperate her almost to frenzy. Eagerly grasping her lover's hands, her action seemed to demand the repetition of his promise. But the words which should have expressed the demand were wanting. A sudden, but sinking change was taking place in the lady's appearance--the poison had run its course; and the crisis of her fate was approaching. Slowly drawing her hand across her brow, as if to clear the mist that made her vision indistinct, she seemed anxiously to search out some object, which the fading sight had scarcely strength enough to reach. At that moment, a dial, which faced the feet of the couch on which she lay, struck, with its shrill bell, the first hour of the morning. The stroke seemed to fall upon the Countess, and paralyse her remaining faculties. "Angiolina!" cried the Chevalier, springing from the floor--"Angiolina! speak, for mercy's sake! Angiolina!--she is dying!" His attention was quickly called to his own safety: a footstep as he spoke approached distinctly through the corridor. "Angiolina!" He started to the door by which he had entered. "Ruin and despair!" it was closed without--it would not open. The footsteps came on still. Why, then, there was but one hope--his dagger was in his hand. The Lady Angiolina heard--she saw what was passing. She moved--she pointed. No--it was wrong--not there! She made a last effort--she _spoke_, once more. "_Yonder_, Lorenzo--_There--there!_" It was but the advantage of a moment. The curtains of the couch on which the Countess was lying parted the coming and the going guest. The light fall of the swinging door by which the new visitor entered the chamber, echoed the heavy drop of that which had shut the Chevalier from view. * * * * *