Thus saying, Stefanello again threw himself listlessly on his seat, and the shrill, woman’s voice of Savelli took part in the dialogue.
“I would, noble Signor, that you had come a few hours earlier: we are still making merry at the recollection—he, he, he!”
“Ah, excellent,” cried Stefanello, joining in the laugh; “our cousin has had a loss. Know Adrian, that this base fellow, whom the Pope has had the impudence to create Senator, dared but yesterday to send us a varlet, whom he called—by our Lady!—his ambassador!”
“Would you could have seen his mantle, Signor Adrian!” chimed in the Savelli: “purple velvet, as I live, decorated in gold, with the arms of Rome: we soon spoiled his finery.”
“What!” exclaimed Adrian, “you did not break the laws of all nobility and knighthood?—you offered no insult to a herald!”
“Herald, sayst thou?” cried Stefanello, frowning till his eyes were scarce visible. “It is for Princes and Barons alone to employ heralds. An’ I had had my will, I would have sent back the minion’s head to the usurper.”
“What did ye then?” asked Adrian, coldly.
“Bade our swineherds dip the fellow in the ditch, and gave him a night’s lodging in a dungeon to dry himself withal.”
“And this morning—he, he, he!” added the Savelli, “we had him before us, and drew his teeth, one by one;—I would you could have heard the fellow mumble out for mercy!”
Adrian rose hastily, and struck the table fiercely with his gauntlet.