d hand at the door which faced him. In a
little while the door opened, and one of Madonna Beatrice's ladies
peeped out her head, and gave a little squeal of surprise at the sight
of her lord and the rest of the company, the unexpected presence, and
the unexpected torches. But Messer Folco bade her very sternly be still,
and when Messer Folco commanded sternly he was generally obeyed. Then he
ordered her that she should summon her mistress at once to come to him
there, where he waited for her. When the sorely frightened girl had
gone, there was silence for a little while on the loggia, while the
perplexed friends stared at each other's blanched faces, until presently
the little door opened again and Monna Beatrice came forth from it, and
saluted her father very sweetly and gravely, as if nothing were out of
the ordinary, though some thought, and Messer Tommaso Severo knew, that
there was a troubled look in her usually serene eyes.

Messer Folco addressed her calmly, with the calmness of one that, being
consciously a philosopher, seeks to restrain all needless, unreasonable
rages, and he said, slowly: "Madonna, I have been told very presently by
one that pretends to have seen what he tells, that you talked here but
now with a man alone. The thing, of course, is not true?"

The question which went with the utterance of his last words was given
in a very confident voice, and he carried, whether by dissimulation or
no, a very confident countenance.

The look of confidence faded from his face as Madonna Beatrice answered
him very simply. "The thing is true," she said, and then said no more,
as if there were no more to say, but stood quietly where she was,
looking steadily at her father and paying no heed to any other of those
that were present.

The voice of Folco was as stern as before, though harder in its tone as
he again addressed his daughter. "The thing is true, then? I am grieved
to hear it. Who was the man?"

Madonna Beatrice looked at him very directly. She seemed to be neither
at all abashed nor at all defiant, as she answered, tranquilly, "I
cannot tell you, father."

For a little while that seemed a great while a dreary quiet reigned over
that moon-bathed loggia. Father and daughter faced each other with fixed
gaze, and the others, very ill at ease, watching the pair, wished
themselves elsewhere with all their hearts.

While those that assisted reluctantly at this meeting wondered what
would happen next, s