Her attitude had never changed. There was that in it, as she sat beside the great heap of silvered ashes and of burnt-out wood, that struck the boy's heart with a sudden awe and fear. The abasement, the subjection, of a fearless life has ever in it a certain terror—the mournful terror of every fallen greatness—for those who look upon it.
He went softly to her, and spoke low in her ear before she saw him by her.
"Eccellenza, the soldiery are out."
She gave no sign that she heard him.
"The soldiers have him! Can you trust him, Illustrissima?"
She still seemed to hear nothing where her gaze was fixed upon the dying fire. The boy touched her timidly.
"The King's people have him, Miladi. Will he be true?"
She started, as though some corpse had been galvanised to life, and turned her face to him.
"True? Will who be true? He whom all are false to? Yes, true to death—true to death!"
He saw that her mind wandered, that she had not aright understood him.
"Eccellenza, hear me." he said, softly. "The
