the house down before they should touch her.

"Go back! Go back!" she cried. "They will murder you, Etienne. My life,
at least, is safe. For the love you bear me, Etienne, go back. It is
nothing. I will make no sound. You will not hear that it is done."

She wrestled with me, this delicate creature, and by main force she
dragged me to the opening between the cells. But a sudden thought had
crossed my mind.

"We may yet be saved," I whispered. "Do what I tell you at once and
without argument. Go into my cell. Quick!"

I pushed her through the gap and helped her to replace the planks. I had
retained her cloak in my hands, and with this wrapped round me I crept
into the darkest corner of her cell. There I lay when the door was
opened and several men came in. I had reckoned that they would bring no
lantern, for they had none with them before.

To their eyes I was only a dark blur in the corner.

"Bring a light," said one of them.

"No, no; curse it!" cried a rough voice, which I knew to be that of the
ruffian, Matteo. "It is not a job that I like, and the more I saw it
the less I should like it. I am sorry, signora, but the order of the
tribunal has to be obeyed."

My impulse was to spring to my feet and to rush through them all and
out by the open door. But how would that help Lucia? Suppose that I got
clear away, she would be in their hands until I could come back with
help, for single-handed I could not hope to clear a way for her. All
this flashed through my mind in an instant, and I saw that the only
course for me was to lie still, take what came, and wait my chance. The
fellow's coarse hand felt about among my curls--those curls in which
only a woman's fingers had ever wandered. The next instant he gripped my
ear and a pain shot through me as if I had been touched with a hot iron.
I bit my lip to stifle a cry, and I felt the blood run warm down my neck
and back.

"There, thank Heaven, that's over," said the fellow, giving me a
friendly pat on the head. "You're a brave girl, signora, I'll say
that for you, and I only wish you'd have better taste than to love a
Frenchman. You can blame him and not me for what I have done."

What could I do save to lie still and grind my teeth at my own
helplessness? At the same time my pain and my rage were always soothed
by the reflection that I had suffered for the woman whom I loved. It is
the custom of men to say to ladies that they would willingly endure any
pain for