'Eh? what? What Lucrezia?'

'The lady with whom your Majesty danced last night.'

'Ah, yes; to be sure. I recall her. Madonna Lucrezia; a pretty little mouthful! Do you hint she would be at supper?'

'Certes, she will be there. And she supplicates your Highness——'

'She supplicates? Eh? What say you, Thibaut? I, forsooth——Well, well, to-morrow we take the field—'tis the last time. Messere, give your master my thanks, and tell him that I—forsooth——'

The King took Thibaut aside.

'Hark you—this Madonna Lucrezia—who is she?'

'Sire, the leman of Il Moro.'

'Alas!'

'A single word from your Majesty and all can be accompolished this evening itself, if you will, sire.'