o the heart of the pile, it
was all a roaring, hissing, crackling blaze.

He stood back and laughed. "If there are any more of his brothel-mates
in the house, they can escape as he did. They will be more fortunate
than that one." And he pointed up to the limp figure hanging from the
balcony, so that I now learnt what already I have told you.

With my hand I screened Bianca's eyes. "Do not look," I bade her.

I shuddered at the sight of that limply hanging body. And yet I
reflected that it was just. Any man who could have lent his aid to the
foul crime that was attempted there that night deserved this fate and
worse.

Cavalcanti got to horse, and we rode down the street, bringing folk to
their windows in alarm. Behind us the flames began to lick out from the
ground floor of Cosimo's palace.

We reached the Porta Fodesta, and peremptorily bade the guard to open
for us. He answered, as became his duty, with the very words that had
been addressed to me at that place on a night two years ago:

"None passes out to-night."

In an instant a group of our men surrounded him, others made a living
barrier before the guard-house, whilst two or three dismounted, drew the
bolts, and dragged the great gates open.

We rode on, crossing the river, and heading straight for Pagliano.

For a while it was the sweetest ride that ever I rode, with my
Bianca nestling against my breast, and responding faintly to all the
foolishness that poured from me in that ambrosial hour.

And then it seemed to me that we rode not by night but in the blazing
light of day, along a dusty road, flanking an arid, sun-drenched stretch
of the Campagna; and despite the aridity there must be water somewhere,
for I heard it thundering as the Bagnanza had thundered after rain, and
yet I knew that could not be the Bagnanza, for the Bagnanza was nowhere
in the neighbourhood of Rome.

Suddenly a great voice, and I knew it for the voice of Bianca, called me
by name.

"Agostino!"

The vision was dissipated. It was night again and we were riding for
Pagliano through the fertile lands of ultra-Po; and there was Bianca
clutching at my breast and uttering my name in accents of fear, whilst
the company about me was halting.

"What is it?" cried Cavalcanti. "Are you hurt?" I understood. I had been
dozing in the saddle, and I must have rolled out of it but that Bianca
awakened me with her cry. I said so.

"Body of Satan!" he swore. "To doze at such a time!"

"