She was pale and worn, and there were dark circles round her eyes that did much to mar the beauty of her angel face, and inspired me with a deep and sorrowing pity.
Ramiro announced his intention of leaving Pesaro on the morrow, and ere he went he begged leave to pledge the beautiful Lady of Santafior, who was so soon to become the bride of the valiant and mighty Ignacio Borgia.

It was a toast that was eagerly received, so eager and uproariously that even that poor lady herself was forced to smile, for all that I saw it in her eyes that her heart was on the point of breaking.
I remember how, when we had drunk, she raised her goblet--a beautiful chaste cup of solid gold--and drank, herself, in acknowledgment; and I remember, too, how, chancing to move my head, I caught a most singular, ill-omened smile upon the coarse lips of Messer Ramiro.
At the time I thought of it no more, but in the morning when the horrible news that spread through the Palace gained my ears, that smile of Ramiro del' Orca recurred to me at once.
It was from the seneschal of the Palace that I first heard that tragic news.

I had but risen, and I was descending from my quarters, when I came upon him, his old face white as death, a palsy in his limbs.
"Have you heard the news, Ser Lazzaro ?" he cried in a quavering voice.
"The news of what ?" I asked, struck by the horror in his face.
"Madonna Paola is dead," he told me, with a sob.
I stared at him in speechless consternation, and for a moment I seemed forlorn of sense and understanding.
"Dead ?" I remember whispering.

"What is it you say ?" And I leaned forward towards him, peering into his face.

"What is it you say ?" "Well may you doubt your ears," he groaned.