round the other's waist.

'They are men from the Pope's choir,' Stradella whispered, 'or from
Saint Peter's.'

The first piece was finished, and the musicians exchanged a few words in
low tones, while one or two of them tuned their instruments a little. A
moment later they began to play again, and as Stradella recognised the
opening chords of one of his own serenades, a rich-toned voice began the
song.

Ortensia's arm tightened a little round her husband, and his round her,
and their young cheeks touched as they listened and peered down into the
gloom of the narrow street. Suddenly there was a stir below, and the
sound of other feet coming quickly from the Piazza del Gesu; and though
the serenade was not half finished, another choir and other instruments
struck up a chorus, loud and high, almost completely drowning the first.

Stradella uttered an exclamation of surprise. The newcomers sang and
played quite as well as the first party, if not better, and the music
was Stradella's too--a triumphal march and chorus which he had composed
when last in Rome for the marriage of the Orsini heir. It had been
intended to drown all other sounds while the wedding procession was
leaving the church, and it now fulfilled a similar purpose most
effectually.

For a moment Stradella imagined that it was only meant as a surprise,
and a reinforcement to the first party, and that the whole company of
musicians would play and sing together. That would have been indeed a
royal serenade; but half a minute had not passed before things took a
very different turn, for the party in possession of the street charged
the newcomers after a moment's deliberation; the twanging of strings
turned into a noise of stout sticks hitting each other violently and
smashing an instrument now and then, and steel was clashing too, while
the voices that had lately sung so tunefully now shouted in wild
discord.

Suddenly a flash of bright light darted through the dim confusion as a
dark lantern was opened, and the glare fell full on the face and figure
of Don Alberto Altieri, who stood hatless, sword in hand, facing an
adversary who was quite invisible to the couple at the window. The
instant the light was seen, the others of the two parties ceased
fighting and retired in opposite directions.

'Sir,' said a voice which Stradella and Ortensia instantly recognised as
Trombin's, 'I see that you are at least as young as you are noble, if
not more so, and I shall