everything quiet; I lay down on a couch outside the doors and tried to sleep; but my thoughts troubled me. My mind was with the sad horsemen galloping through the night, and I wondered what the morrow had in store for them and me. I knew a price would be set upon my head, and I had to remain here in the midst of my enemies as the only protection of an old man of eighty-five.
In a little while I heard the bells which told the town that the conspirators had fled, and at last I fell into a restless sleep. At six I was awakened by a hurry and bustle in the house.... The servants told one another that Checco had gone, and the Countess would come out of the fortress in a little while; and then God only knew what would happen. They cowered about, whispering, taking no notice of the new serving-man who had appeared in the night. They said that the Palace would be given over to the vengeance of the people, that the servants would suffer instead of the master; and soon one of them gave the signal; he said he would not stay, and since his wages had not been paid he would take them with him. He filled his pockets with such valuables as he could find, and going down a back staircase slid out of a little side door and was lost in the labyrinth of streets. The others were quick to follow his example, and the Palace was subjected to a looting in miniature; the old steward stood by, wringing his hands, but they paid no attention to him, thinking only of their safety and their pockets. Before the sun had had time to clear away the early mists, they had all fled; and besides the old man, the house contained only the white-haired steward, a boy of twenty, his nephew, and myself; and Checco had been such a sweet and gentle master!
We went in to the old Orso. He was seated in a large arm-chair by the fireside, huddled up in a heavy dressing-gown. He had sunk his head down in his collar to keep warm, so that one could only see the dead eyes, the nose, and the sunken, wrinkled cheeks; a velvet cap covered his hair and forehead. He was holding his long, shrivelled hands to the fire, and the flames almost shone through them; they trembled incessantly. He looked up at the sound of our entrance.
'Ah, Pietro!' he said to the steward. Then, after a pause, 'Where is Fabrizio?'
Fabrizio was the servant in whose particular charge the Orso had been put, and the old man had become so fond of him that he would take food only from his hand, and insisted on having him near at every moment of the day. He had been among the first to fill his pockets and decamp.
'Why does not Fabrizio come?' he asked querulously. 'Tell him I want him. I will not be neglected in this way.'
Pietro did not know what to answer. He looked about him in embarrassment.
'Why does not Fabrizio come? Now that Checco is master here, they neglect me. It is scandalous. I shall talk to Checco about it. Where is Fabrizio? Tell him to come immediately on pain of my displeasure.'
His voice was so thin and weak and trembling it was like that of a little child ill with some fever. I saw that Pietro had nothing to say, and Orso was beginning to moan feebly.
'Fabrizio has been sent away,' I said, 'and I have been put in his place.'
Pietro and his nephew looked at me. They noticed for the first time that my face was new, and they glanced at one another with upraised brows.
'Fabrizio sent away! Who sent him away? I won't have him sent away.'
'Checco sent him away.'
'Checco had no right to send him away. I am master here. They treat me as if I were a child. It is shameful! Where is Fabrizio? I will not have it, I tell you. It is shameful! I shall speak to Checco about it. Where is Checco?'
None of us answered.
'Why don't you answer when I speak to you? Where is Checco?'
He raised himself in his chair and bent forward to look at us, then he fell back.
'Ah, I remember now,' he murmured. 'Checco has gone. He wanted me to go too. But I am too old, too old, too old. I told Checco what it would be. I know the Forlivesi; I have known them for eighty years. They are more fickle and cowardly than any other people in this cesspool which they call God's earth. I have been an exile fourteen times. Fourteen times I have fled from the city, and fourteen times I have returned. Ah yes, I have lived the life in my time, but I am tired now. I don't want to go out again; and besides, I am so old. I might die before I returned, and I want to die in my own house.'
He looked at the fire, murmuring his confidences to the smouldering ashes. Then he seemed to repeat his talk with Checco.
'No, Checco, I will not come. Go alone. They will not touch me. I am Orso Orsi. They will not touch me; they dare not. Go alone, and give my love to Clarice.'
Clarice was Checco's wife. He kept silence for a while, then he broke out again,—
'I want Fabrizio.'
'Will I not do instead?' I asked.
'Who are you?'
I repeated patiently,—
'I am the servant placed here to serve you instead of Fabrizio. My name is Fabio.'
'Your name is Fabio?' he asked, looking at me.
'Yes.'
'No, it is not! Why do you tell me your name is Fabio? I know your face. You are not a serving-man.'
'You are mistaken,' I said.
'No, no. You are not Fabio. I know your face. Who are you?'
'I am Fabio.'
'Who are you?' he asked again querulously. 'I cannot remember whom you are. Why don't you tell me? Can't you see that I am an old man? Why don't you tell me?'
His voice broke into the moan, and I thought he would cry. He had only seen me twice, but among his few visitors the faces of those he saw remained with him, and he recognised me partly.
'I am Filippo Brandolini,' I said. 'I have remained here to look after you and see that no harm happens. Checco wished to stay himself, but we insisted on his going.'
'Oh, you are a gentleman,' he answered. 'I am glad of that.'
Then, as if the talk had tired him, he sank deeper down in his chair and fell into a dose.
I sent Andrea, the steward's nephew, to see what was happening in the town, and Pietro and I sat in the large window talking in undertones. Suddenly Pietro stopped and said,—
'What is that?'
We both listened. A confused roar in the distance; it resembled the raging of the sea very far away. I opened the window and looked out. The roar became louder, louder, and at last we discovered that it was the sound of many voices.
'What is it?' asked Pietro again.
There was a scrambling up the stairs, the noise of running feet. The door was burst violently open, and Andrea rushed in.
'Save yourselves!' he cried. 'Save yourselves!'
'What is it?'
'They are coming to sack the Palace. The Countess has given them leave, and the whole populace is up.'
The roar increased, and we could distinctly hear the shouting.
'Be quick!'
