d, but she kept
her head hung, and as for her blushes they were curtained by her long
hair. He, on the contrary, directly he had bent his knee to the Duke,
turned to where she stood, and, in face of the whole city, put his arms
about her, and found a way to kiss her cheek. The broad ring of
onlookers wavered; the twitches played like summer lightning over
Borso's face.

"Come here, Angioletto," he said. Angioletto drew near the throne.

"You see now, my friend," the Duke continued in a low voice, "what may
happen to one's wife if she keeps not her bed o' nights. A certain
Captain Mosca has been stabbed. More than that, his head was attacked
when he had ceased to take any interest in it, and cut off. I ask no
words from you, no comments, no adjurations, for you are a prejudiced
party. Your wife and this other woman between them have done the
Captain's business. Mine is to find out how. Stand aside now and
listen."

Angioletto started, opened his mouth to speak--but the Duke put up his
hand. "Young man," said he sternly, "I am Duke of Ferrara, and you are
my prisoner. Be good enough to remember that."

Angioletto hung his head. Borso turned again to Bellaroba, but kept the
other in his eye.

"Now, missy, what had you to do with Captain Mosca's headpiece?"

"Nothing, my lord."

"What!" he roared. "Did you not cut it off?"

"No, my lord."

"Why not, girl? He was your enemy, I suppose?"

"I think he was, my lord."

"Think! Do you not know it? What did he want of you?"

"He wanted to make me bad, my lord."

"Ah! So you stabbed him, eh?"

"No, my lord."

"Come now, come now, girl. Look at your frock."

She did look and was silent.

"Well!" Borso continued, after a sharp glance at Angioletto. "Did your
husband cut it off?"

"No, my lord, he wasn't there--but--"

"Well--but what?"

"He would have killed him, my lord."

"Oh, the devil he would! Why?"

"Because he loves me, my lord."

"H'm. Well, Miss Bellaroba, where's your hand?"

She held it out. "Here, sir."

"What a little one! Well, put it on your heart. Now, how does it feel?"

"It jumps, my lord."

"Does it burn you, child?"

"No, my lord; it's quite cold."

"Stand down, Bellaroba. Castaneve, come forward."

His face just now was a sight to be seen--crumpled, infinitely prim,
crow-footed like an ivied wall; but extraordinarily wise; with that
tempered resolve which says, "I know Evil and I know Good, and dare be
just to either." H