morsel of his outrageous
thought without utterance. There was no further need for any keeper of
the Privy Seals; there was no longer any need for anyone but Rizzo in
this Council of the Realm!

But Dama Margherita, closely watching and fearing treachery, stole
nearer to the table, standing over the open letter which she had read
from end to end before the Chief of Council, in his absorption, had
perceived her action. Now he felt her condemnatory eyes upon him, like
the merciless gaze of a fate, and he would not look towards her while he
rudely seized the letter and pushed it nearer to the Queen.

"It is well for your Majesty to understand," he said imperatively, "that
this matter is not one for choice--but of necessity."

"We do not understand," the Queen answered haughtily, but already her
voice showed failing strength.

"Guards!" cried the Lady Margherita with tingling cheeks, to the men who
stood just within the doorway, "arrest these intruders!--They trouble
the Queen's peace."

Unconsciously the men took a step forward--the words had rung out like a
command: but Rizzo, with a face of insolent mastery, made a motion which
arrested them, and they knew that their impulse had been a momentary
madness.

"The Child----" Rizzo began in icy tones, speaking with slow emphasis,
his eyes fixed upon the Queen.

The mother sprang to her feet, alert on the instant, her strength
surging back tumultuously--every faculty tense.

"The child is safe--_while your Majesty is careful to fulfil our
pleasure_."

"My Lords," cried Dama Margherita, fearlessly, "the writing on this
parchment is not true."

The hand of the Chief of Council fell to his sword, as if he would have
struck her down--then--remembering that she was but a woman, in spite of
her splendid courage, he withdrew it with a shower of muttered oaths.

"It is the writing which Her Majesty will sign to insure the safety of
her child," he asserted, in uncompromising tones.

The Queen turned from one pitiless face to the other and knew that there
was no hope for her.

"My God, I shall go mad!" she moaned, as she seized the pen with
trembling fingers, unconscious that she had spoken: then in a last,
desperate appeal, she cried to Fabrici:

"Most Reverend Father, by your hopes of Heaven, I implore you--give me
my boy again! _il mio dilettissimo figlio!_ See, I sign the parchment!"
and with feverish strokes she wrote her name; then with hands strained
tightly tog