  A Little page who had been leaning on the marble parapet beyond the terrace, came stealthily and beckoned to a comrade on the steps of the loggia. "A troop of horse were coming across the plain," he explained in low, agitated tones, as the other reached his side, and followed him back to the post where he had been watching. "I saw them all the time Dama Margherita was reciting—Holy Mother, but it was long!—I thought the King was coming, and it was I that should carry the news to her Majesty—I came near crying out! But I could not see his orange plume, and I waited. They came slowly—Santissima Vergine! He was not there!" He clutched his comrade's doublet with a trembling hand and turned an ashen face towards him. "What ailest thee, Tristan?—thou who art already a damoiseau and shalt be a true knight? Thou art verily dreaming—I see nothing." "They are gone within—in the first great court of the palace—those who came. They were the King's gentlemen—all the King's gentlemen—Messer Andrea among them. I thought the champing would have roused the Queen who hath been watching all the day. I am not afraid——" he gasped; "but it was so horrible!—Thou knowest, Guido, Messer Andrea never leaveth the King." "He will come with the others—he will surely, surely come," Guido asseverated. They clasped each other close and pressed their fresh cheeks together, trembling so that they could scarcely speak, yet struggling to be brave, as became little pages that should be knights. "They were so long," poor Tristan said in a choking whisper, "and it was so still—so still—no music, and they returning from the chase! And—when they came nearer, I thought I saw his horse, but I could not see a rider—and I thought, I thought—perhaps because it was dark—and I ran down the front of the palace to get nearer when they crossed the bridge. Ah, but the tramp was dreadful! And—and—it was his horse, and a squire leading him—and—behind them—oh Guido!—Then I knew." "We will be knights, Tristan mio," Guido whispered, wiping away his comrade's tears while his own were falling; and then, straining each other convulsively, they broke down in sobs together. Dama Ecciva stole up the steps from the terrace, and catching EloisÀ's hand, dragged her forcibly away. "Come quickly," she whispered, with chattering teeth, "Santa Maria Vergine! I am so frightened. Oh, the poor, poor Queen! That was why she hath been so strange—she hath truly seen the vision. Poverina, it breaks one's heart! And he but a week away! So gay and debonair, and beautiful as a god!" There was no mistaking her wild eyes. "I was there in the pergola, and I saw them come—the frati from the TroÖdos in the midst of the troop of horse—with—with It.—Oh EloisÀ, it was true!—They are telling her now." There was a stir in the great audience-chamber back of the loggia where Caterina sat—a sound of hesitant feet, as of many who came unwillingly, unutterably weary from the dull weight of evil tidings. The muffled footsteps roused her from her revery and she turned her head and saw them coming. Her heart stood still for fear. Messer Andrea came before the others, falteringly—as if youth had died out of him: he was pale and strange and no words fell from his blanched lips during that long instant while he crossed the interminable stretch between them, and Caterina waited, with all her tortured soul crying out for Janus. Then the King's favorite, with the cruel story written in his anguished eyes, turned them full upon hers for one moment, that she might know—then bowed his head upon his breast and opened his arms, as if he fain would shelter her— "Caterina——" he said—"Child——"
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