It had a definite scope, as Galeotto frankly told me,
informing me that the time approached in which to avenge my father and
strike a blow for my own rights.
And then at the end of a week a man rode into the courtyard of Pagliano one
day, and flung down from his horse shouting to be led to Messer Galeotto.
There was something about this courier's mien and person that awoke a
poignant memory. I was walking in the gallery when the clatter of his
advent drew my attention, and his voice sent a strange thrill through me.
One glance I gave to make quite sure, and then I leapt down the broad steps
four at a time, and a moment later, to the amazement of all present, I had
caught the dusty rider in my arms, and I was kissing the wrinkled, scarred,
and leathery old cheeks.
"Falcone!" I cried. "Falcone, do you not know me?"
He was startled by the violence of my passionate onslaught. Indeed, he was
almost borne to the ground by it, for his old legs were stiff now from
riding.
And then--how he stared! What oaths he swore!
"Madonnino!" he babbled. "Madonnino!" And he shook himself free of my
embrace, and stood back that he might view me. "Body of Satan! But you
are finely grown, and how like to what your father was when he was no older
than are you! And they have not made a shaveling of you, after all.
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