library, by all means," he replied eagerly, and, as the heavy
portieres were drawn aside, the tiny creature at his side and even the
golden-haired woman who had greeted his coming so graciously were for
the moment clean forgotten, for he comprehended that one of his dearest
hopes, long thwarted but never entirely relinquished, the hidden
personal motive which had been the determining factor in his acceptance
of this mission, was now about to be realised. The immense room from
floor to cornice was walled with books: the writings of the fathers of
the church--huge folios hasped in brass and ornamented with priceless
illuminations--side by side with pagan literature, Greek manuscripts,
and volumes of the Roman classics, while all the new harvest of the
Italian Renaissance, in every department then known, had been carefully
garnered. But high above the marshalled works of the poets, which his
fingers lingeringly caressed as he passed them by, Brandilancia had
detected a row of small volumes, and a thrill of triumphant delight shot
through his frame as he climbed the step-ladder and with eager fingers
plucked them from their niches.

For here were the novelli of Boccaccio, Masaccio, and Bandello, of
Giraldi Cinthio and Ser Giovanni Fiorentino and of many another writer
of romantic tales of whimsical gaiety, of intrigue, or of tragedy, and
Brandilancia was a playwright gifted with a most exceptional genius for
adaptation. He had read a few of these tales and had realised that they
contained admirable material for dramatisation, but now by a turn of the
wheel of Fortune the entire inexhaustible mine of absorbing plot of
piquant situation and contrasting characters, slightly sketched but
waiting only the touch of genius to spring into life, lay open before
him.

With a sigh of supreme satisfaction he sank into the nearest chair and
read like one under the influence of some hypnotic spell.

The secretary of the Grand Duke entered the library, shuffled about
noisily, coughed, and even addressed him, but the reader was unconscious
of his presence.

Curious as to what so enthralled the stranger the man of the ink-horn
tiptoed behind him, read the title over his shoulder, and laughed aloud.
Brandilancia surprised, laid down the volume and demanded the cause of
this demonstration.

"Pardon me, Signor," replied the secretary, "but I could not refrain,
your absorption pays me a great compliment for I am the author of that
book."