But that night, when I had retired to my chamber, I was visited by
Cavalcanti. He was very grave.
"Agostino," he said, "let me implore you to be circumspect, to keep a curb
upon your bitter tongue. Be patient, boy, as I am--and I have more to
endure."
"I marvel, sir, that you endure it," answered I, for my mood was petulant.
"You will marvel less when you are come to my years--if, indeed, you come
to them. For if you pursue this course, and strike back when such men as
Pier Luigi tap you, you will not be likely to see old age. Body of Satan!
I would that Galeotto were here! If aught should happen to you..." He
checked, and set a hand upon my shoulder.
"For your father's sake I love you, Agostino, and I speak as one who loves
you."
"I know, I know!" I cried, seizing his hand in a sudden penitence. "I am
an ingrate and a fool. And you upheld me nobly at table. Sir, I swear
that I will not submit you to so much concern again."
He patted my shoulder in a very friendly fashion, and his kindly eyes
smiled upon me. "If you but promise that--for your own sake, Agostino--we
need say no more. God send this papal by-blow takes his departure soon,
for he is as unwelcome here as he is unbidden."
"The foul toad!" said I. "To see him daily, hourly bending over Monna
Bianca, whispering and ogling--ugh!"
"It offends you, eh? And for that I love you! There.
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