"One couch still awaits its guest." She nodded languidly. "Tristan--the pilgrim. He is late. Know you aught of him, my lord?" There was an air of mockery in her tone, not unmingled with concern. Basil's thin lips straightened. "Perchance the holy man hath other sheep in mind. What is he to you, Lady Theodora? Your concern for him seems of the suddenest." "What is it to you, my lord?" she flashed in return. "Am I accountable to you for the moods that sway my soul?" A mocking laugh startled both the Grand Chamberlain and Theodora. Low as the words between them had been spoken, they had reached the ear of Roxana. Watchful of every shade of expression in Theodora's face, she was resolved to take up the gauntlet her hated rival had thrown to her, to draw her out of her defences into open conflict, for which she longed with all the fire of her soul. Determined to wrest the dominion of Rome from Marozia's beautiful sister, she was resolved to stake her all, counting upon the effect of her wonderful beauty and her physical perfection, which was a match for Theodora's in every point. This desire on Roxana's part was precipitated by the strange demeanor of young Fabio of the Cavalli. From the moment Theodora had entered the banquet hall his fevered gaze had devoured her wonderful beauty. A feverish restlessness had taken possession of the youth and he had rudely repelled Roxana when she tried to soothe his wine-besotten brain. "Perchance," she turned to Theodora, "remembering how Circé of old changed her lovers into swine, the sainted pilgrim no longer worships at Santa Maria of the Aventine." Theodora started at the sound of her rival's hated voice as if an asp had stung her. "Perchance the well-known blandishments of our fair Roxana might accomplish as much, if report speaks true," she replied, returning the smouldering challenge in the other woman's eyes. "And why not?" came the purring response. "Am I not your match in body and soul?" Every vestige of color had faded from Theodora's cheeks. For a moment the two women seemed to search each other's souls, their bosoms heaving, their eyes alight with the desire for the conflict. Roxana slowly arose and strode toward the vacant seat at Theodora's left. "When you circled the Rosary on yesternight, fairest Theodora," she purred, "was he not there--waiting for you?" Instead of Theodora, it was Basil who made reply. "Of whom do you speak?" Again the silvery ripple of Roxana's laughter floated above the din. "Perchance, my Lord Basil, our fair Theodora should be able to enlighten you on that point--" "Of whom do you speak?" Basil turned to the woman. There was something ominous in his eyes. His face was pale. Theodora regarded him contemptuously, her dark slumbrous eyes turning from him to the woman. "Beware lest I be tempted to strangle you," she spoke in a low tone, her white hands opening and closing convulsively.