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Sabatini, Rafael, 1875-1950

"The Strolling Saint; being the confessions of the high and mighty Agostino D'Anguissola, tyrant of Mondolfo and Lord of Carmina in the state of Piacenza"


Giuliana flashed me a glance ere she made answer.
"You will tell my Lord Gambara that I have retired for the night and
that...But stay!" She caught up a quill and dipped it in the ink-horn,
drew paper to herself, and swiftly wrote three lines; then dusted it with
sand, and proffered that brief epistle to the servant.
"Give this to my lord."
Busio took the note, bowed, and departed.
After the door had closed a silence followed, in which I paced the room in
long strides, aflame now with the all-consuming fire of jealousy. I do
believe that Satan had set all the legions of hell to achieve my overthrow
that night. Naught more had been needed to undo me than this spur of
jealousy. It brought me now to her side. I stood over her, looking down
at her between tenderness and fierceness, she returning my glance with such
a look as may haunt the eyes of sacrificial victims.
"Why dared he come?" I asked.
"Perhaps...perhaps some affair connected with Astorre..." she faltered.
I sneered. "That would be natural seeing that he has sent Astorre to
Parma."
"If there was aught else, I am no party to it," she assured me.
How could I do other than believe her? How could I gauge the turpitude of
that beauty's mind--I, all unversed in the wiles that Satan teaches women?
How could I have guessed that when she saw Fifanti speak to that lad at the
gate that afternoon she had feared that he had set a spy upon the house,
and that fearing this she had bidden the Cardinal begone? I knew it later.


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