'Hearken, my dear. Where do you keep that robe I was so fond of—don't you remember?—which you wore at the Pallavicini fête last summer? Little golden caterpillars sparking like fireflies on a purple ground.'
'I don't remember,' said Lucrezia. 'Oh, yes, though—it must be here,' and she moved away from her lover's hiding-place, leaving its door ajar, and drew the Duchess to the other wardrobe.
'And she declared she could not deceive!' thought the duke, pleased notwithstanding his terror. 'What presence of mind! Oh, women! 'tis from you princes should learn diplomacy.'
Presently the ladies moved away into the adjoining apartment, and Il Moro breathed more freely, though he still convulsively clutched at the relics of St. Christopher and the morsel of mummy.
'Two hundred imperial ducats to the monastery of St. Maria delle Grazie for oil and candles, if it ends well!' he vowed.
At last the maid came running, opened the press, and with an air both respectful and sly let the prisoner out, telling him the danger was passed, and the most excellent Madonna Beatrice had been pleased to retire, after taking a gracious leave of Madonna Lucrezia.
Having crossed himself, he returned to the studiolo, drank a glass of the Balnea aponitana water, looked at Lucrezia, who sat by the fireplace as before, her head drooping, and smiled. Then he stepped cautiously to her side, bent down and took her in his arms. The girl shuddered.
'Leave me! Leave me, I pray you. I beseech you to go away. How can you do this after what has happened?'
But the Duke unheeding, covered her face and neck and hair with ardent kisses. He had found a new charm in her unsuspected talent for deception, and never had she seemed to him more lovely.
The December storm still howled in the chimney; but the glow of the fire illuminated the chain of laughing naked children who, among the vine-branches of Bacchus brandished nail, hammer, spear, and crown of thorns.