'Ask it only, sweet.' His chest still heaved spasmodically to the catching of his breath.
'It is,' said the boy steadily, 'that thou wouldst give me, thy conscience's delegate, a last justification by the sacraments.'
The Duke smiled faintly, and nodded, and murmured: 'I will confess ere midnight, and, fasting, receive the Holy Communion before I go to-morrow. Does it please thee? Come, then.'
He re-entered his cabinet, reeling a little, and sat himself down, as if exhausted, by the table.
'Bernardo,' he said weakly, half apologetically, 'I am overwrought: there is wine in that jug: I prithee give it me to drink.'
The boy, unhesitating, handed him the flagon.
'It is the symbol of joy redeemed,' he said. 'Put thy lips to the chalice, Galeazzo, and take what thy soul needest—no more.'
The Duke lifted the cup shakily, stumbled at its brim, steadied himself, and sipped. His eyes dilated and grew wolfish—'I am vindicated,' he stuttered: 'O sweet little saint!'—and he drank greedily, ecstatically, and, smacking his lips, put down the vessel.
He was himself again from that draught.
'Bernardo,' he said, in a reassured, half-maudlin confidence, 'canst thou read the stars?'