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He saw her once again, spent a most blissful two hours in her company, before the Countess Lionella took it into her head to shelter from the summer heats in a villa she had above Monselice. Thither Angioletto was forced to go in her train. He found it intolerable, went with a heart of lead; for so cheerful a soul he was what he looked, parched and wan. This lasted a week.
Duke Borso, his portly body swaying like a carriage on springs, his hands behind him, and attended by a tall young man, very splendid and very blonde, came across the grass towards them. Angioletto could not decide whether to think him rogue or prude. His puckered face twitched, his eyes twitched, his pursed-up lips worked together; it was again as if he were struggling with a laugh.
So you stabbed him, eh?" "No, my lord." "Come now, come now, girl. Look at your frock." She did look and was silent. "Well!" Borso continued, after a sharp glance at Angioletto. "Did your husband cut it off?" "No, my lord, he wasn't there but " "Well but what?" "He would have killed him, my lord." "Oh, the devil he would! Why?" "Because he loves me, my lord." "H'm.
Ten minutes passed; then Angioletto came up between a detachment of men, unbound. He was not observed to falter throughout his course over the broad field; but his eyes were fever bright and colour noticeably high. Bellaroba did not look up at him; her eyelids fluttered, but she kept her head hung, and as for her blushes they were curtained by her long hair.
But we know that if Assyrian balm was ever for the world's chaffer it was in the days of Borso, the good Duke. Angioletto loved his Bellaroba with all his heart: no debonair Lionella could decoy him to be untrue. But he was debonair himself, of high courage, and mettlesome; and he may have gone a little too far. He was now become her confidant, secretary, bosom friend.
Angioletto put his arm round Bellaroba's waist, and they began to pace the aisle in confidential talk. "Where are you going to live in this place, Bellaroba?" he asked her. "I don't know. Olimpia knows. There was a Monna Nanna we were to live with, I think. But Olimpia will decide. I must do as she wishes." "But why?" "She is older than I am two years. Besides I always have.
He had been Boy-Bishop twice, had become a favourite of the Warden's, learnt Latin, smelt at Greek, scribbled verses. Then, one Corpus Christi, he got his chance. She had been a widow, it seems, when she took part in the Triumphs. Bellaroba was much interested. "Was the lady kind to you, Angioletto?" "Oh, very kind." "But you had to go, you say?" "Yes. It was judged better."
Your wife and this other woman between them have done the Captain's business. Mine is to find out how. Stand aside now and listen." Angioletto started, opened his mouth to speak but the Duke put up his hand. "Young man," said he sternly, "I am Duke of Ferrara, and you are my prisoner. Be good enough to remember that." Angioletto hung his head.
The Captain glared round about him over a tossing sea of bales and asses' ears; getting small joy of that, he scowled portentously at the little minstrel and took a stride forward. "Look you, sprigling," said he, "you have to do with a man of deeds; a man, by Saint Hercules, of steel." Angioletto was fired, cheek and eye. He never faltered. "I wish I had to do with a man of sense," he said.
Her secret was none from the first, or it was like the secret which a child will tell you, all the louder for being said in your ear. "My dear little friend," said the smirking Captain, when he had it, "what you tell me there is as wine in my blood. I declare it sets me singing tunes." "Ah, but he is wonderful, my Angioletto," said she, and her eyes grew larger for the thought of him.
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