“I do noble Signor!” answered Angelo; “I know not where else to seek a patron.”
“Canst thou read and write? I fear me not.”
“I have been taught those arts,” replied Villani.
“It is well. Is thy birth gentle?”
“It is.”
“Better still;—thy name?”
“Angelo Villani.”
“I take thy blue eyes and low broad brow,” said Montreal, with a slight sigh, “in pledge of thy truth. Henceforth, Angelo Villani, thou art in the list of my secretaries. Another time thou shalt tell me more of thyself. Thy service dates from this day. For the rest, no man ever wanted wealth who served Walter de Montreal; nor advancement, if he served him faithfully. My closet, through yonder door, is thy waiting-room. Ask for, and send hither, Lusignan of Lyons; he is my chief scribe, and will see to thy comforts, and instruct thee in thy business.”
Angelo withdrew—Montreal’s eye followed him.
“A strange likeness!” said he, musingly and sadly; “my heart leaps to that boy!”