"Well, returned my lord! Madonna Bianca? The nuptials were celebrated
to-day. The bride has gone."
"Gone?" I roared. "Gone whither, man?"
"Why, to Piacenza--to my Lord Cosimo's palace there. They set out some
three hours since."
"Where is your lord?" I asked him, flinging myself from the saddle.
"Within doors, most noble."
How I found him, or by what ways I went to do so, are things that are
effaced completely from my memory. But I know that I came upon him in the
library. He was sitting hunched in a great chair, his face ashen, his eyes
fevered. At sight of me--the cause, however innocent, of all this evil--
his brows grew dark, and his eyes angry. If he had reproaches for me, I
gave him no time to utter them, but hurled him mine.
"What have you done, sir?" I demanded. "By what right did you do this
thing? By what right did you make a sacrifice of that sweet dove? Did you
conceive me so vile as to think that I should ever owe you gratitude--that
I should ever do aught but abhor the deed, abhor all who had a hand in it,
abhor the very life itself purchased for me at such a cost?"
He cowered before my furious wrath; for I must have seemed terrific as I
stood thundering there, my face wild, my eyes bloodshot, half mad from pain
and rage and sleeplessness.
Pages:
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422