But Fate, that arch-humourist, that jester of the gods, delights in mighty contrasts, and has a trick of exalting us by false hopes and hollow lures on the very eve of working our discomfiture.  From the soul that but a moment back had been aglow with evil satisfaction there burst a sudden blasphemous cry of rage that disregarded utterly the sanctity of that consecrated place.

“By the Death of Christ! the coffin is empty!”

It was the roar of a beast enraged, and it was succeeded by a heavy crash as he let fall the coffin-lid; a second later a still louder sound awoke the night-echoes of that silent place.  In a burst of maniacal frenzy he had caught the coffin itself a buffet of his mighty fist, and hurled it from its trestles.

Then he leapt down from the bench, and flung all caution to the winds in the excitement that possessed him.

“It is a trick of that smooth-faced knave Filippo,” he cried.  “They have laid a trap for us, animals, and you never informed yourselves.”

I could imagine the foam about the corners of his mouth, the swelling veins in his brow, and the mad bulging of his hideous eyes, for terror spoke in his words, and the Governor of Cesena, overbearing bully though he was, could on occasion, too, become a coward.

“Out of this!” he growled at them.  “See that your swords hang ready.  Away!”

One of them murmured something that I could not catch.  Mother in Heaven! if it should be a suggestion of what actually had taken place, a suggestion that the church should be searched ere they abandoned it?  But Ramiro’s answer speedily relieved my fears.

“I’ll take no risks,” he barked.  “Come!  Let us go separately.  I first, and do you follow me and get clear of Pesaro as best you can.”  His voice grew lower, and from what else he said I but caught the words, “Cesena” and “to-morrow night,” from which I gathered that he was appointing that as their next meeting-place.

Ramiro went, and scarce had the echoes of his footsteps died away ere the others followed in a rush, fearful of being caught in some trap that was here laid for them, and but restrained from flying on the instant by their still greater fear of that harsh master, Ramiro.

Thanking Heaven for this miraculous deliverance, and for the wit it had lent me so to prepare a scene that should thoroughly mislead those ravishers, I turned me now to Madonna Paola.  Her breathing was grown more heavy and more regular, so that in all respects she was as one sleeping healthily.  Soon I hoped that she might awaken, for to seek to bear her thence and to the Palace in my arms would have been a madness.  And now it occurred to me that I should have restoratives at hand against the time of her regaining consciousness.  Inspiration suggested to me the wine that should be stored in the sacristy for altar purposes.  It was unconsecrated, and there could be no sacrilege in using it.