My mother would have
run too, but she had no time. Eh, take me up, Signore! I cannot swim."

Amilcare swung him up by the hand, so saved his life. Next day Grifone
saved his.

They burnt a monastery in the plain and ransacked a chestful of
correspondence.

"Death of Christ!" swore Passavente, "I can't read this Latin. Go and
fetch me a monk and a rope."

The monk, a plausible rogue, began to read: little Grifone stood by the
table. At a certain point he broke into the recital with an emphatic
word: "Liar!"

"What the deuce does this mean?" fumed Amilcare in a rage.

"The monk is deceiving your Lordship," said Grifone; "the sense is the
opposite of what he reports."

It seemed that the boy knew Latin--at any rate enough to hang a few
monks. Hanged the poor devils were, and after that very much was made of
Grifone. Amilcare took him through all his campaigns, had him well
taught, gave confidence for confidence, and found by the time he was at
Nona, making his "Gran Tradimento" of Farnese, that he could not get on
without him. The accepted remedy for such a state of the case was to
kill the youth at once. Amilcare did not do that, and at first was able
to bless himself for his second forbearance. Grifone was privy to all
his master's hopes and safeguards; Grifone wrought upon the Signoria,
cajoled the clergy, bamboozled the _popolani_, descended even to the
ragamuffins in the gutters, and taught them how to shout "Duca! Duca!"
when his master went proudly a-horseback, or to scribble his effigy in
great chalk circles on the city walls. Though it may be true that
Molly's graces brought Amilcare the crown of Nona, it must be added that
neither Molly nor her Duke could have got in at all if Grifone had not
been there to oil the hinges of the gates.

He had the soft purring ways of a cat, the tact of a Jesuit, the
penetration of a money-lender, the sensibility of a musical amateur, and
the morals of a maid-of-honour. He had extraordinary command over
himself; he seemed able to do everything, and wishful to win nothing.
There never was a young man (as a matter of fact) who wanted so much or
asked so little. It was the very boundlessness of his desires which
reined him in. The appetite of the Caesars would not have represented
his, all the gratification they could have commanded would have been for
him but a whet. If he had a weak side it was his own astuteness: he
could not always see how unutterably foolish a man migh