d and my hair trimmed to a proper length. Similarly I
accepted weapons, money, and a horse; and thus equipped, looking for the
first time in my life like a patrician of my own lofty station, I rode
forth from Monte Orsaro with Galeotto and Gervasio, attended by the
former's troop of twenty lances.

And from the moment of our setting out there came upon me a curious
peace, a happiness and a great sense of expectancy. No longer was
I oppressed by the fear of proving unworthy of the life which I had
chosen--as had been the case when that life had been monastic.

Galeotto was in high spirits to see me so blithe, and he surveyed with
pride the figure that I made, vowing that I should prove a worthy son of
my father ere all was done.

The first act of my new life was performed as we were passing through
the village of Pojetta.

I called a halt before the doors of that mean hostelry, over which hung
what no doubt would still be the same withered bunch of rosemary that
had been there in autumn when last I went that way.

To the sloe-eyed, deep-bosomed girl who lounged against the door-post to
see so fine a company ride by, I gave an order to fetch the taverner.
He came with a slouch, a bent back, and humble, timid eyes--a very
different attitude from that which he had last adopted towards me.

"Where is my mule, you rogue?" quoth I.

He looked at me askance. "Your mule, magnificent? said he.

"You have forgotten me, I think--forgotten the lad in rusty black who
rode this way last autumn and whom you robbed."

At the words be turned a sickly yellow, and fell to trembling and
babbling protestations and excuses.

"Have done," I broke in. "You would not buy the mule then. You shall buy
it now, and pay for it with interest."

"What is this, Agostino?" quoth Galeotto at my elbow. "An act of
justice, sir," I answered shortly, whereupon he questioned me no
further, but looked on with a grim smile. Then to the taverner, "Your
manners to-day are not quite the same as on the last occasion when we
met. I spare you the gallows that you may live to profit by the lesson
of your present near escape. And now, rogue, ten ducats for that mule."
And I held out my hand.

"Ten ducats!" he cried, and gathering courage perhaps since he was not
to hang. "It is twice the value of the beast," he protested.

"I know," I said. "It will be five ducats for the mule, and five for
your life. I am merciful to rate the latter as cheaply as it dese