'But the Fool, Messer—the Fool!'
'Will never conspire against his adored master's exaltation.'
'Exaltation? Would ye let this saint, then, to become the people's idol?'
'Ay, that we may discredit him presently for an adulterous idol. No saint so scorned as he whose sanctity trips on woman.'
'What! You think——?'
'Exactly—yes—the Duchess. Vale, Messer Montano!'—and he lifted his cap mockingly, and moved off.
In the meanwhile Cicada, having watched, through a slit of the unclosed door, the retreat and disappearance of the philosopher, was about to shut himself in again, with a muttered objurgation or two, when a rapid step sounded without, and on the instant the door was flung back against him, and Messer Lanti strode in. There was no opportunity given him to temporise: the great creature was there in a moment, and had recognised him with a 'pouf!' of relief. He just accepted the situation, and closed the door upon them both.
'Well,' he said acridly, 'here you be, and whether for good or ill let the gods answer!'
Lanti stretched his great chest.
'It is well, Fool; and I am well if he is well. Where is he?'