r, but even so thrilled to feel his
touch upon her shoulders, and showed herself blushing with the emotion,
lovelier for love. Cesare was really startled to see how vividly
beautiful she was; but, with more command of himself than the other
trafficker, was careful not to show it. He smiled yet more sunnily; his
words were some pleasant, friendly compliment. Molly, guessing it so,
came nearer, took his open hands, and put up her face for his kiss.
Caesar Borgia took a deep breath before he accepted of the rest. Then he
did kiss her, twice. He was ridiculously pleased, very much in
confusion for a little while. Since he could say nothing and she had
nothing to say, the pair of them stood hand-clasped, smiling, dim-eyed
and red in the face, like two glad children--Amilcare, anxious mothering
hen, clucking about them. The Duke, having recovered himself, murmured
some courtesy, and led his captive to a seat in the window. His
half-dozen English words and her six Italian, his readiness, her
simplicity, put matters on a friendly footing: very soon Molly was
chattering like a school-girl. Cesare was enchanted; he recovered his
gaiety, forgot his bloody hands, his anxieties, schemes, fret at
inaction. He ordered a meal to be served at once, kept Molly close to
his side, heaped her plate, pledged her in wine. He went so far as to
forget all common precautions and eat whatsoever was put before him.

Be sure Amilcare missed nothing. He saw all, perhaps more than all: he
was used to deal with men. Thought he to himself, "Hey! If this was my
house of Nona, _amico_, and the time six months hence, you would sleep
where you supped." But Cesare had no thought of Amilcare until the end.
Then he clapped him on the shoulder.

"My Passavente," he cried, "you have gone far on your pearl-fishing and
dived deeper than most of us, but by our hope of salvation you have
found a jewel of price! And ah, Madonna," he said, with his burning eyes
on the girl, "you have brought the sun into Italy. You shall be called
_Principessa della Pace_, who heal all sorrow and strife by the light of
your face."

"I humbly thank your Grace," said Molly, very grateful; but Amilcare
dropped upon one knee.

"Splendour," says he, "deign to visit our poor house in Nona, if you
would learn what willing service is."

"My friend, be sure of me," said the Borgia, and meant it. "Do you bid
me come, Princess?" His looks ate her up.

Molly hung her head. "I shall in all