ed the Count among
them.

In a brief preamble he touched upon the character of Gian Maria Sforza,
the reigning Duke of Babbiano--seated upon its throne by his powerful
uncle, Lodovico Sforza, Lord of Milan. He exposed the man's reckless
extravagances, his continued self-indulgence, his carelessness in
matters of statecraft, and his apparent disinclination to fulfil the
duties which his high station imposed upon him. On all this Fabrizio
touched with most commendable discretion and restraint, as was demanded
by the circumstance that in Francesco del Falco he was addressing the
Duke's own cousin.

"So far, Excellency," he continued, "you cannot be in ignorance of the
general dissatisfaction prevailing among our most illustrious cousin's
subjects. There was the conspiracy of Bacolino, a year ago, which, had
it succeeded, would have cast us into the hands of Florence. It failed,
but another such might not fail again. The increased disfavour of
his Highness may bring more adherents to a fresh conspiracy of this
character, and we should be lost as an independent state. And the peril
that menaces us is the peril of being so lost. Not only by defection
of our own, but by the force of arms of another. That other is Caesar
Borgia. His dominion is spreading like a plague upon the face of this
Italy, which he has threatened to eat up like an artichoke--leaf by
leaf. Already his greedy eyes are turned upon us, and what power
have we--all unready as we are--wherewith successfully to oppose the
overwhelming might of the Duke of Valentinois? All this his Highness
realises, for we have made it more than clear to him, as we have, too,
made clear the remedy. Yet does he seem as indifferent to his danger as
to his salvation. His time is spent in orgies, in dancing, in hawking
and in shameful dalliance, and if we dare throw out a word of warning,
threats and curses are the only answer we receive."

Da Lodi paused, as if growing conscious that his manner was becoming
over-vehement. But of this, his companions, at least, were all
unconscious, for they filled the pause with a murmur of angry
confirmation. Francesco wrinkled his brow, and sighed.

"I am--alas!--most fully conscious of this danger you speak of.
But--what do you expect of me? Why bear me your grievance? I am no
statesman."

"Here is no statesman needed, lord. It is a soldier Babbiano requires;
a martial spirit to organise an army against the invasion that must
come--that i