Matilda raised her head from the wall against which it was reclined, and eagerly listened, as if in expectation of an event which would seal her future fate. She still gazed, when the chains of the entrance were unlocked. The door, as it opened, grated harshly on its hinges, and two officials entered. “Follow me,” was the laconic injunction which greeted her terror-struck ear. Trembling, Matilda arose: her limbs, stiffened by confinement, almost refused to support her; but collecting fortitude from desperation, she followed the relentless officials in silence. One of them bore a lamp, whose rays, darting in uncertain columns, showed, by strong contrasts of light and shade, the extreme massiness of the passages. The Gothic frieze above was worked with art; and the corbels, in various and grotesque forms, jutted from the tops of clustered pilasters. They stopped at a door. Voices were heard from within: their hollow tones filled Matilda’s soul with unconquerable tremors. But she summoned all her resolution--she resolved to be collected during the trial; and even, if sentenced to death, to meet her fate with fortitude, that the populace, as they gazed, might not exclaim--“The poor Laurentini dared not to die.” These thoughts were passing in her mind during the delay which was occasioned by the officials conversing with another whom they met there. At last they ceased--an uninterrupted silence reigned: the immense folding doors were thrown open, and disclosed to Matilda’s view a vast and lofty apartment. In the centre was a table, which a lamp, suspended from the centre, overhung, and where two stern-looking men, habited in black vestments, were seated. Scattered papers covered the table, with which the two men in black seemed busily employed. Two officials conducted Matilda to the table where they sat, and, retiring, left her there. CHAPTER XVI. “Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have; Thou art the torturer of the brave.” Marmion. One of the inquisitors raised his eyes; he put back the papers which he was examining, and in a solemn tone asked her name. “My name is Matilda; my title La Contessa di Laurentini,” haughtily she answered; “nor do I know the motive for that inquiry, except it were to exult over my miseries, which you are, I suppose, no stranger to.” “Waste not your time,” exclaimed the inquisitor, sternly, “in making idle conjectures upon our conduct; but do you know for what you are summoned here?” “No,” replied Matilda. “Swear that you know not for what crime you are here imprisoned,” said the inquisitor. Matilda took the oath required. As she spoke, a dewy sweat burst from her brow, and her limbs were convulsed by the extreme of horror, yet the expression of her countenance was changed not. “What crime have you committed which might subject you to the notice of this tribunal?” demanded he, in a determined tone of voice.