She was standing at her window, deep in thought, when Giulietta entered,—­fresh and blooming,—­bearing the breakfast-tray.

“Come, my little princess, here I am,” she said, “with your breakfast!  How do you find yourself, this morning?”

Agnes came towards her.

“Bless us, how grave we are!” said Giulietta.  “What has come over us?”

“Giulietta, have you seen poor grandmamma this morning?”

“Poor grandmamma!” said Giulietta, mimicking the sad tone in which Agnes spoke,—­“to be sure I have.  I left her making a hearty breakfast.  So fall to, and do the same,—­for you don’t know who may come to see you this morning.”

“Giulietta, is he here?”

“He!” said Giulietta, laughing.  “Do hear the little bird!  It begins to chirp already!  No, he is not here yet; but Pietro says he will come soon, and Pietro knows all his movements.”

“Pietro is your husband?” said Agnes, inquiringly.

“Yes, to be sure,—­and a pretty good one, too, as men go,” said Giulietta.  “They are sorry bargains, the best of them.  But you’ll get a prize, if you play your cards well.  Do you know that the King of Naples and the King of France have both sent messages to our captain?  Our men hold all the passes between Rome and Naples, and so every one sees the sense of gaining our captain’s favor.  But eat your breakfast, little one, while I go and see to Pietro and the men.”

So saying, she bustled out of the room, locking the door behind her.

Agnes took a little bread and water,—­resolved to fast and pray, as the only defence against the danger in which she stood.

After breakfasting, she retired into the inner room, and, opening the window, sat down and looked out on the prospect, and then, in a low voice, began singing a hymn of Savonarola’s, which had been taught her by her uncle.  It was entitled “Christ’s Call to the Soul.”  The words were conceived in that tender spirit of mystical devotion which characterizes all this class of productions.

  “Fair soul, created in the primal hour,
    Once pure and grand,
  And for whose sake I left my throne and power
    At God’s right hand,
  By this sad heart pierced through because I loved thee,
  Let love and mercy to contrition move thee!

  “Cast off the sins thy holy beauty veiling,
    Spirit divine! 
  Vain against thee the hosts of hell assailing: 
    My strength is thine! 
  Drink from my side the cup of life immortal,
  And love will lead thee back to heaven’s portal!

  “I, for thy sake, was pierced with many sorrows,
    And bore the cross,
  Yet heeded not the galling of the arrows,
    The shame and loss. 
  So faint not thou, whate’er the burden be: 
  But bear it bravely, even to Calvary!”

While Agnes was singing, the door of the outer room was slowly opened, and Agostino Sarelli entered.  He had just returned from Florence, having ridden day and night to meet her whom he expected to find within the walls of his fastness.