closed about a sword-hilt, the forefinger passed over the quillons in
the new manner, as Falcone showed me. But it defies all power of words.
The sweet seduction of its balance, the white gleaming beauty of the
blade, were things that thrilled me with something akin to the thrill of
the first kiss of passion. It was not quite the same, I know; yet I can
think of nothing else in life that is worthy of being compared with it.

I was at the time a lad in my thirteenth year, but I was well-grown and
strong beyond my age, despite the fact that my mother had restrained me
from all those exercises of horsemanship, of arms, and of wrestling by
which boys of my years attain development. I stood almost as tall then
as Falcone himself--who was accounted of a good height--and if my
reach fell something short of his, I made up for this by the youthful
quickness of my movements; so that soon--unless out of good nature he
refrained from exerting his full vigour--I found myself Falcone's match.

Fra Gervasio, who was then my tutor, and with whom my mornings were
spent in perfecting my Latin and giving me the rudiments of Greek, soon
had his suspicions of where the hour of the siesta was spent by me with
old Falcone. But the good, saintly man held his peace, a matter which at
that time intrigued me. Others there were, however, who thought well to
bear the tale of our doings to my mother, and thus it happened that she
came upon us that day in the armoury, each of us in shirt and breeches
at sword-and-target play.

We fell apart upon her entrance, each with a guilty feeling, like
children caught in a forbidden orchard, for all that Falcone held
himself proudly erect, his grizzled head thrown back, his eyes cold and
hard.

A long while it seemed ere she spoke, and once or twice I shot her a
furtive comprehensive glance, and saw her as I shall ever see her to my
dying day.

Her eyes were upon me. I do not believe that she gave Falcone a single
thought at first. It was at me only that she looked, and with such a
sorrow in her glance to see me so vigorous and lusty, as surely could
not have been fetched there by the sight of my corpse itself. Her lips
moved awhile in silence; and whether she was at her everlasting prayers,
or whether she was endeavouring to speak but could not for emotion, I do
not know. At last her voice came, laden with a chill reproach.

"Agostino!" she said, and waited as if for some answer from me.

It was in th