he began talking to them in a husky voice, so that they could scarcely understand him. Then, as if frightened of himself, he took them in his arms, one after the other, and kissed them convulsively, passionately, as one kisses a woman; and he told them to go. He stifled a sob. We sat on and on. I counted the minutes. I had never lived so long before. It was awful....
At last!
It was half-past three; we got up and took our hats.
'Now, my friends!' said Checco, drawing a breath of relief, 'our worst troubles are over.'
We followed him out of the house. I noticed the jewelled hilt of his dagger, and every now and then I saw him put his hand to it to see that it was really there. We passed along the streets, saluted by the people. A beggar stopped us, and Checco threw him a piece of gold.
'God bless you!' said the man.
And Checco thanked him fervently.
We walked along the narrow streets in the shade, but as we turned a corner the sun came full on our faces. Checco stopped a moment and opened his arms, as if to receive the sunbeams in his embrace, and, turning to us, with a smile, he said,—
'A good omen!'
A few more steps brought us to the piazza.
XXIII
Among the members of the Count's household was Fabrizio Tornielli, a cousin of the Orsi on the mother's side. Checco had told him that he wished to talk with Girolamo about the money he owed him, and thought the best opportunity would be when the Count was alone after the meal which he was in the habit of taking at three. But as he was very anxious to find the Count entirely by himself, he begged his cousin to make him a sign when the time came.... Fabrizio had agreed, and we had arranged to stroll about the piazza till we saw him. We came across our friends; to me they looked different from everyone else. I wondered that people as they passed did not stop them and ask what was disturbing them.
At last, one of the Palace windows was opened, and we saw Fabrizio Tornielli standing in it, looking down on the piazza. Our opportunity has come. My heart beat so violently against my chest that I had to put my hand to it. Besides Matteo and myself, Marco Scorsacana, Lodovico Pansecchi and Scipione Moratini were to accompany Checco into the Palace. Checco took my arm and we walked slowly up the steps while the others followed on our heels. The head of the Orsi had a key of gold, that is to say he was admitted to the ruler's presence whenever he presented himself, and without formality. The guard at the door saluted as we passed, making no question. We ascended to Girolamo's private apartments, and were admitted by a servant. We found ourselves in an ante-room, in one wall of which was a large doorway, closed by curtains....
'Wait for me here,' said Checco. 'I will go in to the Count.'
The servant raised the curtain; Checco entered, and the curtain fell back behind him.
Girolamo was alone, leaning against the sill of an open window. He stretched out his hand kindly.
'Ah, Checco, how goes it?'
'Well; and you?'
'Oh, I am always well when I get among my nymphs.'
He waved his hand to the frescoes on the walls. They were the work of a celebrated artist, and represented nymphs sporting, bathing, weaving garlands and offering sacrifice to Pan; the room had been christened the Chamber of the Nymphs.
Girolamo looked round with a contented smile.
'I am glad everything is finished at last,' he said. 'Eight years ago the stones with which the house is built had not been hewn out of the rock, and now every wall is painted, everything is carved and decorated, and I can sit down and say, "It is finished."'
'It is indeed a work to be proud of,' said Checco.
'You don't know how I have looked forward to this, Checco. Until now I have always lived in houses which others had built, and decorated, and lived in; but this one has grown up out of my own head; I have watched every detail of its construction, and I feel it mine as I have never felt anything mine before.'
He paused a minute, looking at the room.
'Sometimes I think I have lost in its completion, for it gave me many pleasant hours to watch the progress. The hammer of the carpenter, the click of the trowel on the brick were music to my ears. There is always a melancholy in everything that is finished; with a house, the moment of its completion is the commencement of its decay. Who knows how long it will be before these pictures have mouldered off the walls, and the very walls themselves are crumbling to dust?'
'As long as your family reigns in Forli your palace will preserve its splendour.'
'Yes, and it seems to me that as the family will preserve the house, so the house will preserve the family. I feel myself firmer and more settled in Forli; this seems like a rock to which my fortunes can cling. But I am full of hope. I am still young and strong. I have a good thirty years of life before me, and what can one not do in thirty years? And then, Checco, my children! What a proud day it will be for me when I can take my son by the hand and say to him, "You are a full-grown man, and you are capable of taking up the sceptre when death takes it from my hand." And it will be a good present I shall leave him. My head is full of plans. Forli shall be rich and strong, and its prince shall not need to fear his neighbours, and the Pope and Florence shall be glad of his friendship.'
He looked into space, as if he saw the future.
'But, meanwhile, I am going to enjoy life. I have a wife whom I love, a house to be proud of, two faithful cities. What more can I want?'
'You are a fortunate man,' said Checco.
There was a short silence. Checco looked at him steadily. The Count turned away, and Checco put his hand to his dagger. He followed him. As he was approaching, the Count turned again with a jewel that he had just taken from the window sill.
'I was looking at this stone when you came,' he said. 'Bonifazio has brought it me from Milan, but I am afraid I cannot afford it. It is very tempting.'
He handed it to Checco to look at.
'I don't think it is better than the one you have on your neck,' he said, pointing to the jewel which was set in a medallion of gold hanging from a heavy chain.
'Oh yes,' said Girolamo. 'It is much finer. Look at the two together.'
Checco approached the stone he held in his hand to the other, and, as he did so, with his other fingers pressed against the Count's chest. He wanted to see whether by any chance he wore a coat of mail; he did not mean to make the same mistake as the Count.... He thought there was nothing; but he wished to make quite sure.
'I think you are right,' he said, 'but the setting shows off the other, so that at first sight it seems more brilliant. And no wonder, for the chain is a masterpiece.'
He took it up as if to look at it, and as he did so put his hand on the Count's shoulder. He was certain now.
'Yes,' said Girolamo, 'that was made for me by the best goldsmith in Rome. It is really a work of art.'
