e?"

"It is possible, and it shall be done. And when it is done you may count
upon me to the last breath to help you to pull down this pestilential
Duke in ruin."

He strode to the door, his step firm once more and his face set, though
it was very grey. "I will leave you now. But you may count upon the
fulfilment of my promise."

He went out, leaving Galeotto and Falcone alone, and the condottiero
flung himself into a chair and sat there moodily, deep in thought, still
in his dusty garments and with no thought for changing them. Falcone
stood by the window, looking out upon the gardens and not daring to
intrude upon his master's mood.

Thus Cavalcanti found them a hour later when he returned. He brought
a parchment, to which was appended a great seal bearing the Pontifical
arms. He thrust it into Galeotto's hand.

"There," he said, "is the discharge of the debt which through my
weakness and folly I have incurred."

Galeotto looked at the parchment, then at Cavalcanti, and then at the
parchment once more. It was a papal bull of plenary pardon and indemnity
to me.

"How came you by this?" he asked, astonished.

"Is not Farnese the Pope's son?" quoth Cavalcanti scornfully.

"But upon what terms was it conceded? If it involves your honour, your
life, or your liberty, here's to make an end of it." And he held
it across in his hands as if to tear it, looking up at the Lord of
Pagliano.

"It involves none of these," the latter answered steadily. "You had best
set out at once. The Holy Office can be swift to act."

CHAPTER VIII. THE THIRD DEGREE

I was haled from my dungeon by my gaoler accompanied by two figures
that looked immensely tall in their black monkish gowns, their heads
and faces covered by vizored cowls in which two holes were cut for their
eyes. Seen by the ruddy glare of the torch which the gaoler carried to
that subterranean place of darkness, those black, silent figures, their
very hands tucked away into the wide-mouthed sleeves of their habits,
looked spectral and lurid--horrific messengers of death.

By chill, dark passages of stone, through which our steps reverberated,
they brought me to a pillared, vaulted underground chamber, lighted by
torches in iron brackets on the walls.

On a dais stood an oaken writing-table bearing two massive wax tapers
and a Crucifix. At this table sat a portly, swarthy-visaged man in the
black robes of the order of St. Dominic. Immediately below and flan