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Updated: June 26, 2025
Duke Borso bowed shortly to the standing maids, and favoured Angioletto with a keen eye before he set a hand on his daughter's shoulder. She looked a pleased welcome as he began to stroke her hair. "Ah, they love the man," thought Angioletto; "good!" "Why, chick," said Duke Borso, "you are like a cage of singing-birds scared by the cat."
She, all unconscious of any presence but her own and her Saviour's, was looking up to the Mother who had made Him so, dim-eyed, and smiling rather tenderly. Her lips framed petitions for the coming home of Angioletto. She had hooded her head as he commanded, and it became her as he had foreseen.
The moment it was ended he seemed prime for a burst of heedless comment; but he stopped, shut his lips with a snap, and became the inscrutable ruler of a fief of the Empire once more. But Angioletto knew that he had pleased him, for all that he walked off as he had come, without word or sign. He had pleased every one.
"You will never be unhappy again, dearest, for I shall be with you." For the time there was no more talk, since the broken murmurs of their joy and wonder cannot be so described. The billing of two doves on an elm was not more artless than their converse on the mule's back. The girl brought prose in again, as became a daughter of Venice. What had led Angioletto to Ferrara?
"Your Grace shall judge whether we are too scared to sing," replied his laughing daughter. "Come," she added, turning to Angioletto, "tune your viol and pipe to it again, my little poet." The Duke made a wry mouth. "Hey, I have no ear for music, my dear," said he. Angioletto was ready for him. "If your Magnificence will permit," he said, "I will take care not to offend his honourable ear.
It is from a Cardinal of my acquaintance to a noble lady of Ferrara, by name Lionella, daughter of Duke Borso himself, and wife to one Messer Guarino Guarini, a very great lord. The lady is patroness of all poets and minstrels. Consider our fortunes made, my joy." "They must be made since you believe it, Angioletto," said Bellaroba with faith.
Angioletto sat on the doorstep beside him without a word. "Will you have an onion, my friend?" the old fellow went on to ask. "Thank you, Sor Beppo, but I have already dined. Let me rather talk to you while you finish your meal." "It is not so much a meal as a relish," said the sweep. "But talk away we'll never quarrel over terms."
"Ah, I might have that," the old man agreed, with a chuckle which ended as a snort. "There might be a chimney in my house that's not been swept for thirty year, having little time and less inclination to sweep 'em for nothing but glory. But, happen there were such a piece of work, what then?" Angioletto pointed into the house. "Is that the chimney, Beppo?" Beppo nodded.
"Now, Mosca, your lie," said the Count, with his cold-steel delivery. Mosca did not stumble. "Master," he said, "I can do you service." "Do it then," whipped in the Count. "I can tell your Excellence why he succeeds no better with La Bellaroba." "Ah!" The Count was suspicious, but interested. "The little lady has a lover." "Body of a dog!" "Body of Angioletto, Excellence." "Angioletto?
And Olimpia, from her shutter, watched him go. There was no trouble on the child's score. The Countess was away; a feigned message from her was enough. Had she been at home and in a good humour, she would have accorded a real one, no doubt; so the deceit was quite harmless. Bellaroba demurred a little that she could not in person warn Angioletto, but the Captain begged her to have no fears.
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