No longer did that agony of despair torture her bosom. True, she was ill at ease: remorse for her crimes deeply affected her; and though her hopes of salvation were great, her belief in God and a future state firm, the heavy sighs which burst from her bosom, showed that the arrows of repentance had penetrated deeply. Several days passed away, during which the conflicting passions of Matilda’s soul, conquered by penitence, were mellowed into a fixed and quiet depression. CHAPTER XVII. Si fractus illabatur orbis, Impavidum ferient ruinæ. Horace. At last the day arrived, when, exposed to a public trial, Matilda was conducted to the tribunal of il Consiglio di Dieci. The inquisitors were not, as before, at a table in the middle of the apartment; but a sort of throne was raised at one end, on which a stern-looking man, whom she had never seen before, sat: a great number of Venetians were assembled, and lined all sides of the apartment. Many, in black vestments, were arranged behind the superior’s throne; among whom Matilda recognised those who had before examined her. Conducted by two officials, with a faltering step, a pallid cheek, and downcast eye, Matilda advanced to that part of the chamber where sat the superior. The dishevelled ringlets of her hair floated unconfined over her shoulders: her symmetrical and elegant form was enveloped in a thin white robe. The expression of her sparkling eyes was downcast and humble; yet, seemingly unmoved by the scene before her, she remained in silence at the tribunal. The curiosity and pity of every one, as they gazed on the loveliness of the beautiful culprit, was strongly excited. “Who is she? who is she?” ran in inquiring whispers round the apartment. No one could tell. Again deep silence reigned--not a whisper interrupted the appalling calm. At last the superior, in a sternly solemn voice, said-- “Matilda Contessa di Laurentini, you are here arraigned on the murder of La Marchesa di Strobazzo: canst thou deny it? canst thou prove to the contrary? My ears are open to conviction. Does no one speak for the accused?” He ceased: uninterrupted silence reigned. Again he was about--again, with a look of detestation and horror, he had fixed his penetrating eye upon the trembling Matilda, and had unclosed his mouth to utter the fatal sentence, when his attention was arrested by a man who rushed from the crowd, and exclaimed, in a hurried tone-- “La Contessa di Laurentini is innocent.” “Who are you, who dare assert that?” exclaimed the superior, with an air of doubt. “I am,” answered he, “Ferdinand Zeilnitz, a German, the servant of La Contessa di Laurentini, and I dare assert that she is innocent.” “Your proof,” exclaimed the superior, with a severe frown. “It was late,” answered Ferdinand, “when I entered the apartment, and then I beheld two bleeding bodies, and La Contessa di Laurentini, who lay bereft of sense on the sofa.” “Stop!” exclaimed the superior.