I did not greatly care if I killed
him. But he was fortunate enough to get no worse hurt than a broken leg,
which should keep him out of mischief for a season and teach him respect
for me for all time.
His father scuttled down the steps to the assistance of that precious son,
who lay moaning where he had fallen, the angle at which the half of one of
his legs stood to the rest of it, plainly announcing the nature of his
punishment.
My mother swept me indoors, loading me with reproaches as we went. She
dispatched some to help Giojoso, others she sent in urgent quest of Fra
Gervasio, me she hurried along to her private dining-room. I went very
obediently, and even a little fearfully now that my passion had fallen from
me.
There, in that cheerless room, which not even the splashes of sunlight
falling from the high-placed windows upon the whitewashed wall could help
to gladden, I stood a little sullenly what time she first upbraided me and
then wept bitterly, sitting in her high-backed chair at the table's head.
At last Gervasio came, anxious and flurried, for already he had heard some
rumour of what had chanced. His keen eyes went from me to my mother and
then back again to me.
"What has happened?" he asked.
"What has not happened?" wailed my mother.
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