What magic was there here? What wizardry was at play? I knew--for they
had told me--that it had been that cavalier who had visited me, that man
whose name was Ettore de' Cavalcanti, who had borne news to them of one who
was strangely like what Giovanni d'Anguissola had been. But Pagliano had
never yet been mentioned.
"Where is Pagliano?" I asked.
In Lombardy--in the Milanes," replied Galeotto.
"It is the home of Cavalcanti."
"You are faint, Agostino," cried Gervasio, with a sudden solicitude, and
put an arm about my shoulders as I staggered.
"No, no," said I. "It is nothing. Tell me--" And I paused almost afraid
to put the question, lest the answer should dash my sudden hope. For it
seemed to me that in this place of false miracles, one true miracle at
least had been wrought; if it should be proved so indeed, then would I
accept it as a sign that my salvation lay indeed in the world. If not..."
"Tell me," I began again; "this Cavalcanti has a daughter. She was with
him upon that day when he came here. What is her name?"
Galeotto looked at me out of narrowing eyes.
"Why, what has that to do with anything?" quoth Gervasio.
"More than you think. Answer me, then. What is her name?"
"Her name is Bianca," said Caleotto.
Something within me seemed to give way, so that I fell to laughing
foolishly as women laugh who are on the verge of tears.
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