nt. He bade the
two servants who attended him to lay a plate for his illustrious cousin,
and when Aquila shortly yet courteously declined, with the assurance
that he had dined already, the Duke insisted that, at least, he should
drink a Cup of Malvasia. When out of a vessel of beaten gold they had
filled a goblet for the Count, his Highness bade the servants go, and
relaxed--if, indeed, so much may be said of one who never knew much
dignity--before his visitor.

"I hear," said Aquila, when the first compliments were spent, "strange
stories of a conspiracy in your Duchy, and on the walls at the Gate of
San Bacolo I beheld four heads, of men whom I have known and honoured."

"And who dishonoured themselves ere their heads were made a banquet for
the crows. There, Francesco!" He shuddered, and crossed himself. "It is
unlucky to speak of the dead at table."

"Let us speak, then, of their offence alone," persisted Francesco
subtly. "In what did it lie?

"In what?" returned the Duke amusedly. His voice was thin and inclining
to shrillness. "It is more than I can say. Masuccio knew. But the dog
would not disclose his secret nor the names of the conspirators until
his task should be accomplished and he had taken them at the treason
he knew they had gathered to ripen. But," he continued, an olive poised
'twixt thumb and forefinger, "it seems they were not to be captured as
easily as he thought. He told me the traitors numbered six, and that
they were to meet a seventh there. The men who returned from the venture
tell me too, and without shame, that there were but some six or seven
that beset them. Yet they gave the Swiss trouble enough, and killed some
nine of them besides a half-score of more or less grievously wounded,
whilst they but slew two of their assailants and captured another two.
Those were the four heads you saw at the Porta San Bacolo."

"And Masuccio?" inquired Francesco. "Has he not told you since who were
those others that escaped?"

His Highness paused to masticate the olive.

"Why, there lies the difficulty," said he at length. "The dog is dead.
He was killed in the affray. May he rot in hell for his obstinate
reticence. No, no!" he checked himself hastily. "He's dead, and the
secret of this treason, as well as the names of the traitors, have
perished with him. Yet I am a clement man, Francesco, and sorely though
that dog has wronged me by his silence, I thank Heaven for the grace to
say--God rest his v