see to the packing of his effects, and make all
ready to set out within the hour.

He was no coward, but he had no wish to die just yet if it might be
honourably avoided. Life had some sweets to offer Francesco del
Falco, and this spurred him to hasten, for he well knew his cousin's
unscrupulous ways. He was aware that Gian Maria had been forced by
weight of argument to let him go, and he shrewdly feared that did he
linger, his cousin might veer round again, and without pausing to seek
advice a second time, have him disposed of out of hand and reckless of
consequences.

Whilst Lanciotto was left busy in the ante-room the Count passed into
his bedchamber attended by Zaccaria, to make in his raiment such changes
as were expedient. But scarce had he begun when he was interrupted by
the arrival of Fanfulla degli Arcipreti, whom Lanciotto ushered in.
Francesco's face lighted at sight of his friend, and he held out his
hand.

"What is it that has happened?" cried the young gallant, adding that
which showed his question to be unnecessary, for from Fabrizio da Lodi
he had had the whole story of what was befallen. He sat himself upon the
bed, and utterly disregarding the presence of Zaccaria--whom he knew
to be faithful--he attempted to persuade the Count where Fabrizio had
failed. But Paolo cut him short ere he had gone very far.

"Have done with that," he said, and for all that he said it with
a laugh, determination sounded sturdy in his accents. "I am a
knight-errant, not a prince, and I'll not be converted from one to the
other. It were making a helot of a free man, and you do not love me,
Fanfulla, if you drive this argument further. Do you think me sad,
cast down, at the prospect of this banishment? Why, boy, the blood runs
swifter through my veins since I heard the sentence. It frees me from
Babbiano in an hour when perhaps my duty--the reciprocation of the
people's love--might otherwise have held me here, and it gives me
liberty to go forth, my good Fanfulla, in quest of such adventure as
I choose to follow." He threw out his arms, and displayed his splendid
teeth in a hearty laugh.

Fanfulla eyed him, infected by the boisterous gladness of his mood.

"Why, true indeed, my lord," he acknowledged, "you are too fine a bird
to sing in a cage. But to go knight-erranting----" He paused, and spread
his hands in protest. "There are no longer dragons holding princesses
captive."

"Alas no. But the Venetians are on the e