was
Giovanni Sforza, he could not wholly grant. He promised her that my
life, at least, should be secure, and that not only would he pardon me,
but that he would have his own physician see to it that I was made sound
again. For the time, that was enough, he thought. First let them bring
me back to life. When that was achieved, it would be early enough to
consider what course this life should take thereafter.

And she, knowing him not and finding him so kind and gracious, trusted
that he would perform that which he tricked her into believing that he
promised.

For some ten days I lay abed, feverish at first and later very weak from
the great loss of blood I had sustained. But after the second day, when
my fever had abated, I had some visitors, among whom was Madonna Paola,
who bore me the news that her intercessions for me with the Lord
of Pesaro were likely to bear fruit, and that I might look for my
reinstatement. Yet, if I permitted myself to hope as she bade me; I did
so none too fully.

My situation, bearing in mind how at once I had served and thwarted the
ends of Cesare Borgia, was perplexing.

Another visitor I had was Messer Magistri--the pompous seneschal of
Pesaro--who, after his own fashion, seemed to have a liking for me, and
a certain pity. Here was my chance of discharging the true errand on
which I was returned.

"I owe thanks," said I, "to many circumstances for the sparing of
my life; but above all people and all things do I owe thanks to our
gracious Lady Lucrezia. Do you think, Messer Magistri, that she would
consent to see me and permit me again to express the gratitude that
fills my heart?"

Mosser Magistri thought that he could promise this, and consented
to bear my message to her. Within the hour she was at my bedside and
divining that, haply, I had news to give her of the letter I had born
her brother, she dismissed Magistri who was in attendance.

Once we were alone her first words were of kindly concern for my
condition, delivered in that sweet, musical voice that was by no means
the least charm of a princess to whom Nature had been prodigal of gifts.
For without going to that length of exaggerated praise which some have
bestowed--for her own ear, and with an eye to profit--upon Madonna
Lucrezia, yet were I less than truthful if I sought to belittle her
ample claims to beauty. Some six years later than the time of which I
write she was met on the occasion of her entry into Ferrara by a