eart! Drawing forth the gory weapon, he flung it at the head
of the despairing youth, and, throwing his cloak around his shoulders,
rushed out of the chamber slamming-to the door!

Malatesta must have fallen in a deadly swoon across the lovely form of
his _innamorata_, incapable of speech and action, for, there they were
found, both apparently dead, by brethren of the _Misericordia_, who had
been summoned by the Duke. Malatesta was thrown into prison, and there
he languished for seven long years, without anyone knowing of his
existence. His parents had asked Cosimo repeatedly about the boy, but no
answer was ever given--the Duke having forbidden the subject to be
named.

To the Duchess he prevaricated and hinted that the sudden death of the
child was due to the malignant spotted fever, and that he had given
personal instructions for the immediate removal and interment of her
body. The brethren of the _Misericordia_ might have enlightened the
grief-stricken mother, only they were sworn to secrecy; they knew how
the beauteous young girl had died. They laid her fair body to rest in a
grave unknown even to her father, and not among her people in San
Lorenzo.

Cosimo moved the Court immediately to Livorno, and thence to Pisa, and
there they kept their Lenten fast in strict seclusion. There was
universal grief in Florence where the unhappy Princess, though rarely
seen in public, had become the favourite of the people, through her
fresh young beauty and by what was known of the sweetness of her
character and the brilliancy of her attainments.

Duchess Eleanora and her children mourned piteously for lovely Maria:
there seemed to be no solace for their grief. As for the Duke, he was a
changed man, the bitterness of remorse had turned his natural reserve
into moroseness. He was like one beside himself, his wonted firmness and
self-control, at times, failed to stay him, and he preferred to shut
himself up alone in one of the towers of the castle at Livorno, venting
his passionate despair in fits of weeping and in abject cries of
self-reproach.

No one dared to go near to him, for to all who presumed to intrude upon
his woes he was like a lion roused. That ever ready secret blade might
be whipped out to another's undoing! Still, in calmer moments he
reflected, as Muzio has suggestively written: "Maria was very beautiful,
as beautiful as any child of earth, most courteous and gentle, her
seriousness compelled everyone to respe