r, and that he who
could neither be persuaded by friendship nor coerced by authority
trembled before a baseless superstition--the dread of the evil eye.

I had still a card to play, and would continue the game resolutely to
the end. It might be that I could arm his captive with the one weapon
which he feared.

With this thought in my mind I came upon Cesare suddenly, in the
ante-room of the Pope's audience chamber.

"Ah," he exclaimed maliciously, "you thought to anticipate me in gaining
my father's ear. I confess I had the same intention. Well, since chance
will have it so, we will go in together."

"One moment," I replied; "I am glad to have met you thus opportunely,
for I have a word of warning for you."

"Of warning?" he questioned.

"Yes," I replied, "in return for that you so kindly sent me with the
rope-ladder this morning. You may need mine first. Let me beg you to
pursue the Lady of Forli no further. If you do not instantly let her go
free she may work you a terrible mischief--the only one you dread."

The scornful smile which had curled his lip died out, and though he
asked my meaning I knew he already had an inkling of it.

"You remember the eyeless basilisk which we found near Imola?" He nodded
and caught my hand. "She has the eyes?" he asked. "Nay, you need not
answer, I know where she keeps them,--in the pomander that hangs always
at her chatelaine." "That is no pomander," I replied, "but a lorgnon.
She is near-sighted; have you not noted, as she looks from her window of
the Belvedere how she scans the objects in the garden through its
lenses?"

"She was looking for me," he chattered insanely, "she was looking for me
through the eyes of the basilisk; but I am not so dull as you think. I
have long suspected this, and when she glared at my men as they charged
the rioters I struck the diabolical things from her hand with the flat
of my sword. I know not where they fell but she has them no longer."

"Be not so sure of that," I ventured with a grimace, which I strove to
make a smile. "I found the lorgnon in the street and carried it back to
the Belvedere. Be warned and anger her no more."

"It was a thoughtful and friendly act," he sneered exultantly, "but
useless, dear fellow, quite useless. _Mal vedere_ should that falsely
named villa be called; but neither for good nor for evil will she
evermore gaze forth from any casement. She and the son whom she thought
to palm off as a girl lie at this mome