by much. That prelate out of Hell, now..."

"Sh!" she hissed at me, smiling, her hand raised. "Should he hear you,
he might send you to the cage for sacrilege. O Agostino!" she cried,
and the smiles all vanished from her face. "Will you grow cruel and
suspicious, too?"

I was disarmed. I realized my meanness and unworthiness.

"Have patience with me," I implored her. "I... I am not myself to-day."
I sighed ponderously, and fell silent as I watched them ride away. Yet
I hated them all; and most of all I hated the dainty, perfumed,
golden-headed Cardinal-legate.

He came again upon the morrow, and we learnt from the news of which
he was the bearer that he had carried out his threat concerning Messer
Caro. The poet was on his way to Parma, to Duke Pier Luigi, dispatched
thither on a mission of importance by the Cardinal. He spoke, too, of
sending my cousin to Perugia, where a strong hand was needed, as the
town showed signs of mutiny against the authority of the Holy See.

When he had departed, Messer Fifanti permitted himself one of his bitter
insinuations.

"He desires a clear field," he said, smiling his cold smile upon
Giuliana. "It but remains for him to discover that his Duke has need of
me as well."

He spoke of it as a possible contingency, but sarcastically, as men
speak of things too remote to be seriously considered. He was to
remember his words two days later when the very thing came to pass.

We were at breakfast when the blow fell.

There came a clatter of hooves under our windows, which stood open to
the tepid September morning, and soon there was old Busio ushering in
an officer of the Pontificals with a parchment tied in scarlet silk and
sealed with the arms of Piacenza.

Messer Fifanti took the package and weighed it in his hand, frowning.
Perhaps already some foreboding of the nature of its contents was in his
mind. Meanwhile, Giuliana poured wine for the officer, and Busio bore
him the cup upon a salver.

Fifanti ripped away silk and seals, and set himself to read. I can see
him now, standing near the window to which he had moved to gain a better
light, the parchment under his very nose, his short-sighted eyes screwed
up as he acquainted himself with the letter's contents. Then I saw him
turn a sickly leaden hue. He stared at the officer a moment and then at
Giuliana. But I do not think that he saw either of them. His look was
the blank look of one whose thoughts are very distant.

He th