“Of that!” he answered, pointing to where the firing and human roar arose from the huddle of narrow streets. “It is no time for a lady to ride,” he added, offensively, “even--even if the Honourable Forza is not afraid to be abroad.” “Signor Forza?” she repeated, puzzled to know his meaning. “Yes, Excellency. Oh, I saw him not very far away,” he asserted, with an insolent effect of shrewdness. A moment she looked him in the eye, conscious that in the lawless spirit of the hour, he had spoken as he would not have dared in a calmer day; but, eager for the news of Mario, she ignored the insult conveyed in the Austrian’s insinuating phrases and manner. “The journals,” she said, “have it that Signor Forza is in the hospital, dying.” “That is false. He is not in the hospital, and he is far from dying, if I am a judge.” “When did you see Signor Forza?” “Not five minutes ago.” “Where?” “In the Corso, going toward the Venetian Gate.” “But he has been wounded.” “Not enough to keep him from the saddle.” “He was on horseback?” “Yes, Excellency. Oh I beg you, go and warn your husband of his danger.” “He must know,” Hera said, absently, her mind dwelling on the assurance that Mario was alive and would live. “He does not know the worst,” the other told her. “I went to demand protection--soldiers to guard him. At the Questura they almost mocked me. The mob has broken through the military lines and is sweeping this way.” “Will they attack the palace?” “Attack! They have only to walk in.” “Why do you think they mean to harm Signor Tarsis?” “I heard them crying out for his life. Go, oh, go and save him! There is time for escape by the Corso gate.’” “Why do you not go to him?” Hera asked. “I! Oh, Excellency! If you had heard them cry out against us. They will burn and slay. None whom they hate will be spared.” From her heart sprang a wish that dazzled with its splendid hope, but left her in the next instant filled with shame. “Addio, Excellency,” she heard the Austrian saying; “for me, I am off.” Then she was aware of his waving hand as he withdrew up a narrow way that cut through to Corso Vittorio Emanuele. Her eyes took in the bulk of his receding figure, but her thought was not with him. In the glimmer of an outhung lamp she saw him turn about and with a forefinger stab the air in the direction of Palazzo Barbiondi. She strove to rally the forces of her mind--to set some rule over her contending impulses.