saw it thought, despite themselves, that if this woman were not above a lie, then never truth was uttered in this world.
"It is no matter how you speak," the Italian made her answer. "You are my prisoners; I shall but give you over to those who will judge you."
"Give me, then. Am I not here that you may do your worst with me? But by all justice, all mercy, all pity, leave him free!"
"It is impossible!"
She threw herself before him; she let her fallen hair bathe his feet, she poured out the vivid utterances of an eloquence that none ever heard unmoved, she sued to him as never for herself would she have sued an emperor; for the only time in her life she abased herself to supplication—she to whom the praying of such a prayer was worse than the endurance of any chastisement.
The Calabrian heard her, startled, dazzled, shaken, but he would not yield.
"It is too late," he said, abmptly. "Miladi, why did you not think before what serving you might cost to a brave man? You treated him like a dog: well, he must die a dog's death. The blame of it is not mine,"
There was a certain pathos in the words; he was
