But Hermoine breaks in laughing: “No. Not dead! He needn’t be exorcised! This is flesh and blood, feel him, feel his lips!” At this Chester whispers: “No, no!” “Yes, yes, kiss her hand. She likes the homage of gentlemen; kiss her hand! I’ll give you permission. I shan’t be jealous, Guido mio.” And following her directions Guy laughingly places a kiss upon the mature fingers upraised in prayer. This touch seems to sooth her, and seeing he is not a ghost, the Countess de Pariza rises up, becomes a duenna again, and says haughtily: “Then Colonel Guido Amati not being a ghost, I must request the gentleman to discontinue his visits here until I have informed my lord of Alva of his pretensions to your hand.” “The gentleman will not discontinue his visits to my house!” answers Hermoine, a defiant light in her eyes. “You forget you are speaking to your duenna.” “Remember I am Doña de Alva!” “Very well, in that case I shall send letter to your father at once.” “You will make no mention of this to my father. I will tell him in my own way at my own time.” “Won’t I!” breaks out the duenna. “Won’t I! Do you think I could bear your father’s anger?” “Then take MINE!” cries the girl, and walking up to her duenna, a great flash in her haughty eyes, she says: “Dare to breathe word of this to any one until I give you my orders to that effect, and I tell my father that four years ago, when I was too young for you to think I noticed the affairs of State, you, for two thousand crowns in hand, gave warning to young Brederode so that he escaped from Brussels and arrest and execution!” “What proofs have you of this?” gasps the Countess. “Only Brederode’s letter thanking you for giving him warning, and stating that he had paid you enough and would give you no more. I have it locked up. Do you suppose that I would have let you stay here by me unless I knew that I could dominate you when I pleased?” jeers Hermoine. “I—I had such need of money,” stammers La Pariza. “Dost think that will save you from the punishment—you know what my father decrees to any one assisting an escape—first the rack—and then the fagots!” This awful doom comes from the girl’s lips cool as from an iceberg; and gazing at her, Chester knows his betrothed is Alva’s daughter. “No—no! Mercy!” sobs the Countess. “Then down on your knees and swear to me by the cross of Christ that you will not breathe of my betrothal to living thing. Swear it—down on your knees and swear it!” cries Hermoine in awful voice. “I—I swear,” gasps the duenna. “On your knees and with the cross upon your lips. Down! Swear it by the Seven Saints of Christendom, by the Twelve Evangelists, by the Four Apostles, by all the sacraments of the church, by the body of our Lord to hold, despite anathema and dispensation both—swear!” And sinking to the floor the Countess de Pariza, affrighted, takes the oath prescribed by Alva’s daughter, who places the crucifix upon her lips.