gaieties of the masquerade was shining on carnage and on combat; the splendours of the palace were stretching out and away beyond aisle on aisle of porphyry columns, through circle on circle of rose-wreathed arches, while without, through the marble pillars of the piazza, were the silver silence of the night and the shadows of innumerable forms gathering closer and closer to seal all hope from those who fought for liberty.
Idalia stood tranquil; and as they saw the serene disdain, the unwavering courage, the mercenaries of the king paused involuntarily. They dared not fire on her.
The voice from the gardens rang imperiously through the stillness.
"Dastards! you shall be shot down with them. Fire!"
The last word was not for the halting and paralysed soldiers of the front; it reached farther, to where, unseen, the picked men of Francis's Guard had marched noiselessly through the opposite doors of the banqueting-room, and circled the band of patriots in the rear with an impassable barrier—meshing them in one net beyond escape. They had not heard, they had not seen, they knew nothing of the ambuscade behind them, where they stood
