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Updated: May 2, 2025
She began to rave, seemingly in a high delirium, pointed at him, wagged her arm at him, mowing the air. "Never repeat them, never repeat them. I shall die if you do!" Grifone set down his cup, ran forward and embraced her. "My lovely lady, my adorable Molly!" he murmured, in a passion of admiration for her transformed, unearthly beauty.
To watch her warm tears flow was in itself a solace; to feel her arms, to win her kissing mouth, quickened those doubtful poor souls. Furtively also, Grifone was on her side; a neat phrase here and there made her position plain to the most infidel in the city. It is true that while he helped her there he tortured her otherwhere inexpressibly.
The still Grifone stood behind his mistress and saw Cesare's golden head sink near and yet nearer to her shoulder. He watched his arm over the back of her seat, and how his other hand crept towards the lady's idle pair. The room held those four, and them not long. In his time Amilcare muttered some excuse and tiptoed out. Cesare was saying, "Ah, give me love love only else I must die!"
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.
Well, at last Amilcare saw what Grifone had seen from the first, the mad results which might be won by a truth-telling Duchess. The Nonesi did attack. Bentivoglio, of course, not expecting them, was scattered over the maize fields, and never collected his force again until his own territory was reached. That was why he could not help the Lady of Forlì.
Molly now covered her face and freely sobbed. The scene was heartrending, and Grifone judged that he might give the finishing stroke. "Love makes a good reader of a man," he said slowly, drawling his words. "Long ago I discerned the clear stream of truth which is the issue of your love.
Grifone, of course, had he been there, would have drawn his master's sword for him, dragged him out of the room, and sent him back in half an hour's time with a bloody testimony of nothing on the blade. Molly would have been pacified, Bentivoglio snug abed, the sword none the worse for a little pig's blood.
"Lift me into the saddle, Signore," said the boy, with a propitiating grin; "I am getting my feet wet." The little dog had a humorous twist to his eyebrow, and it was true enough that the kennels were running red. "Whose blood is that on your legs, my lad?" Passavente stayed his charger. Grifone shrugged. "Misericordia! Who knows?
Cesare found him, I say, and Grifone knew in the first crossing of their eyes that his hour had come. He bore it without a wink, and lucky he might think it that for Cesare also the time was short. He was sooner dead than he dared to hope, and died cursing the name of Borgia. But that was a seasoned name. "The populace is on fire, Highness," reported a breathed captain.
When she began to ask the Virgin Mary how long she could endure, it was the signal to herself that she could endure no more. She sent for him then, and implored him brokenly sobbing, kneeling before him that he would leave her. Grifone bowed his head. He went without seeing her or bidding any farewells.
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