d of honor exclaimed petulantly,
forgetting her deference, "there is no Madama di Niuna!--How should I
know?" The silk was hopelessly knotted and twisted about the tiny pearl
she had just threaded, requiring close attention; Madama di Thenouris
also seemed to watch her work with interest.

"Thou art right, my child, thou art over-young to have any knowledge of
so despicable an intrigue. But the matter is naturally of deep concern
for us all," she added, as Ecciva, having recovered her perfect
self-control lifted her eyes to Madama di Thenouris with a smile that
was intended to thank her for her trust, while assuring her that there
was no possible ground for supposing that she had any knowledge of this
intrigue.

But the gray-haired court-lady met her gaze searchingly and with no
answering smile--she who could be so gracious.

"The Council will follow a clue upon which they have just chanced, and
which may lead to the discovery. If Madama di Niuna would come forward
to confess," she pursued with quiet emphasis, "it might lessen the
penalty for participation in this intrigue--which some among the Council
tell us can be nothing less than death."

There was a murmur of abhorrence from the young voices about her, but
Dama Ecciva was quite silent, although there had been a motion of her
blanched lips as if to speak, and Madama di Thenouris still held her
fascinated gaze. Her eyes had suddenly dilated with a look of terror,
yet almost instantly reassumed their long oval shape--the lids closing
to more than their narrow wont: her embroidery had slipped to the floor,
as she rose, and she was treading it under her feet--bruising and
grinding it passionately, as if it were some safe, unnoticed outlet to
the fear and anger that might smother her. She had flung out her hands
desperately, the dainty tapering fingers working with strenuous, nervous
motions--but now they were tightly clenched in the rose-leaf palms, and
she stood bracing herself, like a statue of defiance. There was an added
pallor on the beautiful ivory face--so still she was she scarcely seemed
to breathe--yet all at tension--like some wild thing of the tropical
forest, suddenly brought to bay, summoning all her strength for the leap
that was to free her.

But she might rage in vain against the invisible meshes that held her,
although it was but for a brief moment that Madama di Thenouris had
searched her soul in silent confession.

XXXII

The times