are
wedding one who seems no less noble at heart, whatever the parts he may
have played in life." He smiled inscrutably, as he added: "I have in
mind that you once sought service with me Messer Biancomonte, and if a
martial life allures you still, I'll make you lord of something better
far than Biancomonte."

I thanked him, and Madonna joined me in that expression of gratitude--an
expression that fell very short of all that was in our hearts. But
touching that offer of his that I should follow his fortunes, I begged
him not to insist.

"The possession of Biancomonte has from my cradle been the goal of all
my hopes. It is patrimony enough for me, and there, with Madonna
Paola, I'll take a long farewell of ambition, which is but the seed of
discontent."

"Why, as you will," he sighed. And then, before more could be said,
there came from the adjoining room a piercing scream.

Cesare raised his head, and his lips parted in the faintest vestige of a
smile.

"They are exacting the truth from the Governor of Cesena," said he. "I
think, Madonna, that we had better move a little farther off. Ramiro's
voice makes indifferent music for a lady's ear."

She was white as death at the horrid noise and all the things of which
it may have reminded her, and so we passed from the antechamber and
sought the more distant places of the castle.

Here let me pause. We were married on the morrow which was Christmas
eve, and in the grey dawn of the Christmas morning we set out for
Biancomonte with the escort which Cesare Borgia placed at our disposal.

As we rode out from the Citadel of Cesena, we saw the last of Ramiro
del' Orca. Beyond the gates, in the centre of the public square, a block
stood planted in the snow. On the side nearer the castle there was a
dark mass over which a rich mantle had been thrown; it was of purple
colour, and in the uncertain light it was not easy to tell where the
cloak ended, and the stain that embrued the snow began. On the other
side of the block a decapitated head stood mounted on an upright pike,
and the sightless eyes of Ramiro del' Orca looked from his grinning face
upon the town of Cesena, which he had so wantonly misruled.

Madonna shuddered and turned her head aside as we rode past that dread
emblem of the Borgia justice.

To efface from her mind the memory of such a thing on such a day, I
talked to her, as we cantered out into the country, of the life to come,
of the mother that waited to w