'How can such an idea have entered your head? Do you not see that all men lie humble at your feet, attentive to every word and gesture?'
'Yes,' she answered, 'but not you!'
Of course I protested.
'Oh,' she said, 'I saw very well that you avoided me. When you came in here—you hardly came near me.'
'I did not think you would notice my inattention.'
'Certainly I noticed it; I was afraid I had offended you. I could not think how.'
'My dear lady, you have certainly done nothing to offend me.'
'Then, why do you avoid me?' she asked petulantly.
'Really,' I said, 'I don't. Perhaps in my modesty I thought it would be a matter of indifference to you whether I was at your side or not. I am sorry I have annoyed you.'
'I don't like people not to like me,' she said in a plaintive way.
'But why should you think I do not like you? Indeed, without flattery, I can assure you that I think you one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.'
A faint blush came over her cheeks, and a smile broke out on her lips; she looked up at me with a pretty reproachful air.
'Then, why don't you let me see it more plainly?'
I smiled, and, looking into her eyes, was struck by their velvet softness. I almost thought she was as charming as she was beautiful.
'Do you really wish to know?' I said, in reply to her question.
'Do tell me!' she said, faintly pressing my arm.
'I thought you had so many admirers that you could well do without me.'
'But, you see,' she answered charmingly, 'I cannot!'
'And then I have a certain dislike to losing myself in a crowd. I did not wish to share your smiles with twenty others.'
'And would you for that refuse them altogether?'
'I have always avoided the woman who is the object of general admiration. I think I am too proud to struggle for favours; I would rather dispense with them.'
'But, then, supposing the lady wishes to favour you especially, you do not give her the opportunity.'
'That is so rare,' I replied, 'that it is not worth while breaking the rule.'
'But it may happen.'
I shrugged my shoulders. She paused a moment, and then said,—
'You do like me, then, after all?'
I saw a slight trembling of the lip, perhaps the eyes were a little moist. I felt sorry for what I had done.
'I fear I have given you pain,' I said.
'You have a little,' she replied.
'I am sorry. I thought you did not care.'
'I like people to love me and be pleased with me.'
'I do both!'
'Then you must show it,' she replied, a smile breaking through the beginning of tears.
I really had been brutal, and I was very sorry that I had caused a cloud to gather over her sunshiny nature. She was indeed very sweet and charming.
'Well, we are good friends now, aren't we?' she said.
'Of course.'
'And you'll come and see me often?'
'As often as you will allow me to,' I answered. She gave me her hand to kiss, and a bright, happy smile lit up her face.
'A rivederci!' she said.
We went home, and Matteo found waiting for him a message from Checco, bidding him leave the inn and take up his quarters with me at the Palazzo Orsi. On arriving, we found Checco excitedly walking up and down a long corridor lined with statues and pictures.
'I am glad you have come,' he said to Matteo, taking his hand and nodding. 'You must stay here; we must all keep together now, for anything may happen.'
'What do you mean?' asked Matteo.
'The catastrophe nearly came to-day.'
We both looked at him with astonishment, not comprehending. Checco stood still abruptly.
'He tried to arrest me to-day—Girolamo!' Then, speaking very quickly, as if labouring under great excitement, 'I had to go to the Palace on business. I found him in the audience chamber, and we began to talk certain matters over, and I grew rather heated. Suddenly I noticed that the place had emptied itself. I stopped in the midst of my sentence and looked up at Girolamo. I saw he was not attending to me; his eyes were fixed on the door.'
Checco was silent, and drops of perspiration were standing on his forehead.
'Yes! Yes!' we both said eagerly.
'The door opened, and the Master of the Guard walked in. "By God!" I thought, "I'm trapped!" "I have been waiting for you, Andrea," said Girolamo. Then he turned to me, and said, "Come into the Room of the Nymphs, Checco. I have some papers there to show you." He took hold of my arm. I loosed myself. "I pray you, excuse me," I said, "I have some very urgent business." I walked to the door. Andrea glanced at his master, and I thought he was going to bar my way; I think he was waiting for some sign, but before it came I had seen through the open door Paolo Bruni, and I called out, "Paolo, Paolo, wait for me. I want to talk to you urgently." Then I knew I was safe; he dared not touch me; and I turned round and said again, "I pray you, excuse me; my business with Paolo is a matter of life or death." I brushed past Andrea and got out. By Heaven! how I breathed when I found myself in the piazza!'
'But are you sure he meant to arrest you?' said Matteo.
'Certain; what else?'
'Andrea might have come in by accident. There may have been nothing in it at all.'
'I was not deceived,' answered Checco, earnestly. 'Their looks betrayed them—Andrea's questioning glance. I know he wants to kill me.'
'But would he dare seize you in cold blood?'
'He cares for nothing when he has an object in view. Besides, when he had me in his power, what could have been done? I know Girolamo too well. There would have been a mock trial, and I should have been condemned. Or else he would have me strangled in my cell, and when I had gone you would have been helpless—my father is too old, and there would have been no leader to the party but you—and what could you do alone?'
We all remained silent for a while, then Checco broke out.
'I know he wants to rid himself of me. He has threatened before, but has never gone so far as this.'
'I agree with you,' said Matteo; 'things are becoming grave.'
'It is not so much for myself I care; but what would happen to my children? My father is safe—he is so old and helpless that they would never think of touching him—but my boys? Caterina would throw them into prison without a scruple.'
'Well,' said Matteo, 'what will you do?'
'What can I do?' he answered. 'I have been racking my brains, and I see no way of safety. I can wear a coat of mail to preserve me from the stray knife of an assassin, but that will not help me against a troop of soldiers. I can leave Forli, but that is to abandon everything.'
'No, you must not leave Forli—anything but that!'
'What can I do? What can I do?' he stamped his foot on the ground as if almost in desperation.
'One thing,' said Matteo, 'you must not go about alone—always with at least two friends.'
'Yes, I have thought of that. But how will it all turn out; it cannot last. What can I do?'
He turned to me.
'What