"It is still time!"
"Time!" sneered Galeotto. "Why, the boy is in their hands. It is hostage
for hostage now, a very different matter. He is lost--irretrievably lost!"
he ended, groaning. "We can but avenge him. To save him is beyond our
power."
"No," said Cavalcanti. "It is not. I am a dolt, a dotard; and I have been
the cause of it. Then I shall pay the price."
"What price?" quoth the condottiero, pondering the other with an eye that
held no faintest gleam of hope.
"Within an hour you shall have in your hands the necessary papers to set
Agostino at liberty; and you shall carry them yourself to Rome. It is the
amend I owe you. It shall be made."
"But how is it possible?"
"It is possible, and it shall be done. And when it is done you may count
upon me to the last breath to help you to pull down this pestilential Duke
in ruin."
He strode to the door, his step firm once more and his face set, though it
was very grey. "I will leave you now. But you may count upon the
fulfilment of my promise."
He went out, leaving Galeotto and Falcone alone, and the condottiero flung
himself into a chair and sat there moodily, deep in thought, still in his
dusty garments and with no thought for changing them. Falcone stood by the
window, looking out upon the gardens and not daring to intrude upon his
master's mood.
Pages:
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404