s again he will succeed. Nothing can turn Don Cesare from his
path but a woman. Therefore, you must charm him, ravish his eyes. You
know very well how to do that."

Molly stared, grew red, began to stammer. "But how can I--? Oh,
Amilcare, what do you ask of me?"

Then he looked at her, severely but without malice. She noticed for the
first time the cold-steel hue in his eyes, the complete absence of
friendliness--a tinge which his men knew very well, and other men's men
even better.

"I ask of you, my Molly, that the man be put at his ease," he said
deliberately (happy in ordering at last); "more, that his direction be
turned. He must be made high-hearted, full of glorious hope, not
counting cost, keen in pursuit. He must blow off the cobwebs of his
doubt; rather, these must shred from him as he flies in chase. I cannot
afford his distrust. I can do nothing without you. Light of Heaven! am I
asking too much? Or do you suppose that my safety with the Borgia is not
yours also?" He shrugged his intolerable indignation and threw back his
head. Thus he avoided to look at his wife.

She still sat upon his knee, but like an alien, bolt upright, reasoning
out her misery with wide tearless eyes, and a hand to press her bosom
down. Shocks were no more for her--she had learned too much; but these
things seemed like hard fingers on a familiar wound, which opened the
old sore and set it aching. The part he now put to her had only to be
named to be shown for horrible; was yet too horrible to be named; yet
had to be named.

"You ask of me to charm your enemy," she said in a still, fascinated
voice (as if she were forced by a spell to speak obscenity): "to beguile
your enemy--to make him--make him--seek me? Him, the man who tried to
murder you? Charm him? Charm him? Lead him to pursue?"

She could hardly drag the words out of her, but Lord! what a fool she
was. At least, Amilcare thought so. The plainest duty, the easiest; this
childish woman's game! He jumped up, quivering with nerves on edge, and
the sympathy between the pair lacked even touch. Molly found her feet,
stood brooding before him, all her hair about her lowered face.

To see her thus, a mute, a block, maddened Amilcare. He clenched his
fists. "Yes, Madam"--his words bit the air--"you shall charm this enemy
of mine, if you please; this assassin, this ravener of other men's
goods. You shall charm him in the way you best know--you and your
nation. Bentivoglio I excus