She saw nothing save the blood-red handwriting of fire upon the sky.

She heard nothing save the shrieks of the wretched victims.
"Mercy, mercy!" faltered she.

"Oh, let this day be a day of festivity for all your subjects! Be merciful, and if you would have me really believe that you love me, grant this first request which I make of you.
Grant me the lives of these wretched ones.

Mercy, sire, mercy!" And as if the queen's supplication had found an echo, suddenly was heard from the chamber a wailing, despairing voice, repeating loudly and in tones of anguish: "Mercy, your majesty, mercy!" The king turned round impetuously, and his face assumed a dark, wrathful expression.

He fastened his searching eyes on Catharine, as though he would read in her looks whether she knew who had dared to interrupt their conversation.
But Catharine's countenance expressed unconcealed astonishment.