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"Now, what the devil did the fellow mean by that?" cried Il Drudo, with his thick fingers out. "Devilry expresses it," said a sly secretary in black. Molly in dreams, soft as a child and glossy with sleep, looked too beautiful for a disturbing hand to dare anything that night. It would have been the act of a brute, not Amilcare's act. In small things he was all gentleness.
Don Cesare was in hiding, reported at Foligno. To-morrow there was to be a Holy Conclave all the Cardinals. God knew what Alexander had or had not in his mind, the conscience-stricken old dog. It was known what he had not in his house, at least. Vannozza had been thrice refused admission; so also La Bella Lucrezia. Think of it! This was very grave news to Amilcare's private ear.
Amilcare's tact must have deserted him, since he could let this simple slave turn critic. But the part, in any case, was difficult. Presently the Duke threw him a hasty phrase, a sort of pish, man! which cut him off in the midst of a period, and walked towards Molly in the doorway. Amilcare flew before on tenterhooks. Cesare came graciously on it was curious to see how his face had cleared.
A turned head meant a disponable body, a bending back, an obsequious knee, even a carcase at a quick hand's discretion; votes in Council, delirium in the Piazza, Te Deum in the Church. Amilcare knew his countrymen: he that knows them half as well will have no trouble in conceiving how these trade-calculations can consist with a great deal of true love. And what was Amilcare's trade?
Word was sent to the Duke; the Duke could not be found. "Oh," said one, "seek Madonna for answer." This was done. "Tell the Lord of Bologna," says Molly, "that we attack to-morrow." The man bowed himself away. You should have seen Amilcare's face when this was reported to him; he rated his lovely Molly like a fish-fag. Then he had an interview with Grifone; told him the whole story.
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