omprehending Duke.

"You have said it," flashed back Francesco. "A parable it is. And if you
consider it, does it not afford you proof enough?" he asked, a note of
triumph in his voice. "Do not our relative positions irrefutably show
the baselessness of this your charge? Should I stand here and you
sit there if what you allege against me were true?" He laughed almost
savagely, and his eyes flashed scornfully upon the Duke. "If more
plainly still you need it, Gian Maria, I tell you that had I plotted to
occupy your tottering throne, I should be on it now, not standing here
defending myself against a foolish charge. But can you doubt it? Did you
learn no lesson as you rode into Babbiano to-day? Did you not hear them
acclaim me and groan at you. And yet," he ended, with a lofty pity,
"you tell me that I plotted. Why, if I desired your throne, my only need
would be to unfurl my banner in the streets of your capital, and within
the hour Gian Maria would be Duke no more. Have I proved my innocence,
Highness?" he ended quietly, sadly almost. "Are you convinced how little
is my need for plots?"

But the Duke had no answer for him. Speechless, and in a sort of dazed
horror, he sat and scowled before him at his cousin's handsome face,
what time the others watched him furtively, in silence, trembling for
the young man who, here, in his grasp, had dared say such things to him.
Presently he covered his face with his hands, and sat so, as one
deeply in thought, a little while. At last he withdrew them slowly and
presented a countenance that passion and chagrin had strangely ravaged
in so little time. He turned to Santi, who stood nearest.

"The guard," he said hoarsely, with a wave of the hand, and Santi went,
none daring to utter a word. They waited thus an odd group, all very
grave save one, and he the one that had most cause for gravity. Then the
captain re-entered, followed by his two men, and Gian Maria waved a hand
towards the prisoner.

"Take him away," he muttered harshly, his face ghastly, and passion
shaking him like an aspen. "Take him away, and await my orders in the
ante-chamber."

"If it is farewell, Cousin," said Francesco, "may I hope that you will
send a priest to me? I have lived a faithful Christian."

Gian Maria returned him no answer, but his baleful eye was upon Martino.
Reading the significance of that glance, the captain touched Francesco
lightly on the arm. A moment the Count stood, looking from the Duk