ot an ode, but a prayer,
oddly profane--and it was in Italian, in the "dialettale" that provoked
Fifanti's sneers. How it ran I have forgotten these many years. But I
recall that in it I likened myself to a sailor navigating shoals and
besought the pharos of Giuliana's eyes to bring me safely through,
besought her to anoint me with her glance and so hearten me to brave the
dangers of that procellous sea.

I read it first with satisfaction, then with dismay as I realized to the
full its amorous meaning. Lastly I tore it up and went below to dine.

We were still at table when my Lord Gambara arrived. He came on
horseback attended by two grooms whom he left to await him. He was all
in black velvet, I remember, even to his thigh-boots which were laced
up the sides with gold, and on his breast gleamed a fine medallion of
diamonds. Of the prelate there was about him, as usual, nothing but the
scarlet cloak and the sapphire ring.

Fifanti rose and set a chair for him, smiling a crooked smile that
held more hostility than welcome. None the less did his excellency pay
Madonna Giuliana a thousand compliments as he took his seat, supremely
calm and easy in his manner. I watched him closely, and I watched
Giuliana, a queer fresh uneasiness pervading me.

The talk was trivial and chiefly concerned with the progress of the
barracks the legate was building and the fine new road from the middle
of the city to the Church of Santa Chiara, which he intended should
be called the Via Gambara, but which, despite his intentions, is known
to-day as the Stradone Farnese.

Presently my cousin arrived, full-armed and very martial by contrast
with the velvety Cardinal. He frowned to see Messer Gambara, then
effaced the frown and smiled as, one by one, he greeted us. Last of all
he turned to me.

"And how fares his saintliness?" quoth he.

"Indeed, none too saintly," said I, speaking my thoughts aloud.

He laughed. "Why, then, the sooner we are in orders, the sooner shall we
be on the road to mending that. Is it not so, Messer Fifanti?

"His ordination will profit you, I nothing doubt," said Fifanti, with
his habitual discourtesy and acidity. "So you do well to urge it."

The answer put my cousin entirely out of countenance a moment. It was
a blunt way of reminding me that in this Cosimo I saw one who followed
after me in the heirship to Mondolfo, and in whose interests it was that
I should don the conventual scapulary.

I looked at Co