Here was work to be done. Bianca was to be guarded.
Perhaps it was in this that she would come to have need of me.
Once Cosimo caught my gloomy looks, and he leaned over to speak to the
Duke, who glanced my way with languid, sneering eyes. He had a score to
settle with me for the discomfiture he had that morning suffered at my
hands thanks to Bianca's collaboration. He was a clumsy fool, when all is
said, and confident now of her support--from the sudden and extreme
friendliness of her mood--he ventured to let loose a shaft at me in a tone
that all the table might overhear.
"That cousin of yours wears a very conventual hang-dog look," said he to
Cosimo. And then to the lady on my right--"Forgive, Valeria," he begged,
"the scurvy chance that should have sat a shaveling next to you." Lastly
he turned to me to complete this gross work of offensiveness.
"When do you look, sir, to enter the life monastic for which Heaven has so
clearly designed you?"
There were some sycophants who tittered at his stupid pleasantry; then the
table fell silent to hear what answer I should make, and a frown sat like a
thundercloud upon the brow of Cavalcanti.
I toyed with my goblet, momentarily tempted to fling its contents in his
pustuled face, and risk the consequences. But I bethought me of something
else that would make a deadlier missile.
Pages:
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368