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Updated: June 19, 2025
I turned in silence, and in silence I quitted the room; for that, I thought, was, after all, the wisest answer I could make. Despite Madonna Paola's dismissal, I remained in Pesaro. Indeed, had I attempted to leave, it is probable that the Lord Filippo would have deterred me, for I was much grown in his esteem since the disclosures that had earned me the disfavour of Madonna.
That valorous bearing that the Lord Giovanni showed whilst, with Madonna Paola's glance upon him, his fear of seeming afraid was greater than his actual fear of our assailants, he cast aside like a mantle once he was within the walls of his Castle, and under the eyes of none save the page and myself, for I followed idly at a respectful distance.
Love has sharp eyes at times, and a dullard under the influence of the baby god will turn shrewd and exert rare wiles in the conduct of his wooing. Giovanni, by some intuition usually foreign to his dull nature, seemed to divine what manner of man would be Madonna Paola's ideal, and strove to pass himself off as possessed of the attributes of that ideal, with an ardour that was pitiably comical.
It may be that I am by nature suspicious and quick to see ignoble motives in men's actions, but it occurred to me then that the Lord Filippo would not be so greatly put about if indeed the Borgias were to reopen negotiations for the bestowing of Madonna Paola's hand upon the Pope's nephew Ignacio.
Naught would now satisfy that ogre but he must have the epic read, and Filippo, who had retained a copy of it, went in quest of it, and himself read it aloud for the delight of all assembled and the torture of myself who saw in Madonna Paola's eyes that she accounted the deception I had practised on her a thing beyond pardon.
For in Madonna Paola's eyes there was a new expression as they rested on the face of Giovanni Sforza an expression that told me she had come to love this man whom a little while ago she had despised. God! was there ever such an irony? Was there ever such a paradox? She loved him, and yet it was not him she loved.
A moment they stood off, consulting among themselves; then Giacopo mounted, and with some mocking counsel as to how I should dispose of the litter and the mules, they made off, no doubt, to find their way back to Rome. Giacopo, as I was afterwards to discover, was Madonna Paola's purse-bearer, so that they would not lack for means.
They heard the rapid hoof-beats of my approach, yet, they never turned their heads to ascertain whether they might not be mistaken in their firm conviction that it was Messer Stefano who was joining them. I kissed my blade for luck, and drove it straight and full into the back of the fellow on Madonna Paola's right.
Instantly the curtain-rings rasped, and Madonna Paola's head appeared, her voice inquiring the reason of this fresh delay. Sullenly Giacopo moved his horse nearer, and sullenly he answered her. "Madonna, our horses are done. It is useless to go farther." "Useless?" she cried, and I had an instance of how sharply could ring the voice that I had heard so gentle. "Of what do you talk, you knave?
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