Raniero's figure seemed part of the silence and the shadows of the hall. His face was cruel and alert, and the light from the cresset played in red streaks upon his helmet. His attitude seemed to indicate that he was not here by chance, and the furtive glances he cast about him seemed to confirm this supposition. What was Raniero doing here? From his point of vantage in a niche, Francesco regarded him with a puzzled air, in which there was hardly a trace of resentment of the injury he had so lately suffered at his hand. His fears were all for Ilaria, for he could no longer doubt that Raniero had sent for her, and he was resolved to be present at the meeting. The Frangipani's eyes were away from Francesco, directed towards the green curtain that covered the dais door. For a while nothing happened. Then Francesco heard a sound like the creaking of hinges. The curtain stirred and bulged, with the pressing against it of some one's body. Francesco's blood froze as, in the one who came through, he recognized Ilaria. He was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, lest she should cry out, and she moved so closely by him, that he could have almost touched her, yet he feared to betray his own presence. Ilaria swept the hall and then came to a point where Raniero sat motionless as some huge beast, ready to spring upon its prey. Her face was tense and watchful, her lips pressed tight, her eyes steady, though afraid. In the next moment she and Raniero looked at each other in silence. Raniero was the first to speak. "Madonna," he sneered, "I have waited for your homecoming." Ilaria stood by the wall. To Francesco she appeared calm and unflurried; but her knees were trembling and there was fear in her eyes. Ilaria made no reply to the taunting voice of her lord, and Raniero, after having waited for some time, continued: "You have no answer, Madonna? Shall I tell you what you already know?"-- Ilaria regarded him out of shadowy eyes, then flashed: "Speak out, and save me riddles!" There was a suggestion of scorn in her voice. Raniero, moistening his lips, frowned. "For your good welcome I give you thanks," he snarled. "What brought you here?" she queried. "If it had been your beauty, Madonna--" With a gesture, she cut him short. "Your courtesy bribes me to silence!" "What of obedience?" She took a backward step. "To you?" Her voice, always low, quivered with scorn. "Are you not the Lady of the Frangipani?" he replied with a brutal laugh, while his eyes grew dull as treacherous water. "You need not remind me!" "Your memory will serve us both. Astura awaits you!" Ilaria shrank against the wall, while, with a swift movement, Raniero stepped between her and the curtain. "Astura!" she flashed, horror in her eyes. "Never! Never!" The Frangipani eyed her ominously.