that. I have
made the discovery of as foul a piece of treachery here in your fortress
as ever traitor hatched."

She looked at him more seriously now. The vehemence of his tone, and the
suggestion of sorrow that ran through it and gave it so frank an accent,
commanded her attention.

"Treachery!" she echoed, in a low voice, her eyes dilating. "And from
whom?"

He hesitated a moment, then waving his hand:

"Will you not sit, Madonna?" he suggested nervously.

Mechanically she seated herself at the table, her eyes ever on his face,
alarm spreading in her heart, born of suspense.

"Be seated too," she bade him, "and tell me."

He drew up a chair, sat down opposite to her, and taking a deep breath:
"Heard you ever of the Count of Aquila?" he inquired.

"It were odd if I had not. The most valiant knight in Italy, fame dubs
him."

His eyes were intently on her face, and what he saw there satisfied him.

"You know how he stands with the people of Babbiano?"

"I know that he is beloved of them."

"And do you know that he is a pretender to the throne of Babbiano? You
will remember that he is cousin to Gian Maria?"

"His relationship to Gian Maria I know. That he pretends to the throne
of Babbiano I was not aware. But whither are we straying?"

"We are not straying, Madonna," answered Gonzaga, "we are making a
straight line for the very heart and soul of this treachery I spoke of.
Would you believe me if I told you that here, in Roccaleone, we have
an agent of the Count of Aquila one who in the Count's interest is
protracting this siege with the pretended aim of driving Gian Maria
off."

"Gonzaga----" she began, more than half guessing the drift of his
explanation. But he interrupted her with unusual brusqueness.

"Wait, Madonna," he cried, his eyes upon her face, his hand imperiously
raised. "Hear me out in patience. I am not talking idly. Of what I tell
you I am armed with proof and witness. Such an agent of--of the Count's
interests we have among us, and his true object in protracting this
siege, and encouraging and aiding you in your resistance, is to outwear
the patience of the people of Babbiano with Gian Maria, and drive them
in the hour of their approaching peril from Caesar Borgia's armies to
bestow the throne on Aquila."

"Where learnt you this foul lie?" she asked him, her cheeks crimson, her
eyes on fire.

"Madonna," he said, in a patient voice, "this that you call a lie is
already an accompli