I felt as if all the blood were being
exhausted from my heart, as if my limbs would refuse their office, and I
leaned for support against the terminal of the balustrade by which I stood.
She saw me. And after the first slight start of astonishment, her lazy
smile grew broader and more insolent. I was but indifferently conscious of
the hustle about me, of the fact that Cavalcanti himself was holding the
Duke's stirrup, whilst the latter got slowly to the ground and relinquished
his falcon to a groom who wore a perch suspended from his neck, bearing
three other hooded birds. Similarly I was no more than conscious of being
forced to face the Duke by words that Cavalcanti was uttering. He was
presenting me.
"This, my lord, is Agostino d'Anguissola."
I saw, as through a haze, the swarthy, pustuled visage frown down upon me.
I heard a voice which was at once harsh and effeminate and quite
detestable, saying in unfriendly tones:
"The son of Giovanni d'Anguissola of Mondolfo, eh?"
"The same, my lord," said Cavalcanti, adding generously--"Giovanni
d'Anguissola was my friend."
"It is a friendship that does you little credit, sir," was the harsh
answer. "It is not well to befriend the enemies of God."
Was it possible that I had heard aright? Had this human foulness dared to
speak of God?
"That is a matter upon which I will not dispute with a guest," said
Cavalcanti with an urbanity of tone belied by the anger that flashed from
his brown eyes.
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