of Bologna," says Molly, "that we attack to-morrow."

The man bowed himself away. You should have seen Amilcare's face when
this was reported to him; he rated his lovely Molly like a fish-fag.
Then he had an interview with Grifone; told him the whole story.

Grifone stared. "Ebbene, Monsignore," said he, "your Grace will do well
to attack."

"Attack, man? when the fellow knows we are coming! Are you mad?"

"Not so, my lord," replied the Secretary. "Bentivoglio does not know you
are coming. What he knows is that you have _said_ you are coming."

Well, at last Amilcare saw what Grifone had seen from the first, the mad
results which might be won by a truth-telling Duchess. The Nonesi did
attack. Bentivoglio, of course, not expecting them, was scattered over
the maize fields, and never collected his force again until his own
territory was reached. That was why he could not help the Lady of Forli.
"Per Bacco," said Grifone to himself, "truth in Italy is soused in the
mud at the well's bottom; in England it seems to lie in a pan. This
pretty creature is as shallow as a crystal cup, where you may study
Truth, like a blue jewel, in an inch of water." He went about
thoughtfully the rest of that day. This new-discovered quality of
Molly's was a thing very beautiful in his eyes. The conclusion he came
to was that he was about to fall in love with the lady. "And that, after
all," was his comment, "might not be a bad thing, if (as is probable) it
become necessary to make her my consort." Then he went happily to sleep.

Grifone's proposals to himself were still very simple. Shortly, they
were to get a throne for his master in order that he might the more
easily acquire one for himself. "My legs," he said frankly, "are too
short to get up without a footstool." Amilcare was to have been the
footstool. But then Molly came into play. At first she seemed to make
the simple thing simpler. Amilcare was a strong man, but stiff. Grifone
was sure he would bungle in his handling of Molly; this truth-telling
beauty, this flawless jewel in a cup, would baffle him; he would neither
see it the fine nor the delicate tool it was. He worked best with a
bludgeon which, as it did brute's work, might be brutishly handled. So
far well--he might trust Amilcare to wreck himself. Unfortunately, it
seemed only too likely he might involve Molly in the mess. That danger
was looming; already he set her to decoy-work which the girl herself
(Grifone could se