"I do," said Ramiro d'Orco; "and moreover as you may want proof of the corruption in the king's council you have heard of, give this small packet, my son, to the good Bishop of St. Malo--not before you have conferred with the king, but afterwards--not when the worthy prelate has company around him; but when he is quite alone."
Lorenzo took the small paper packet which Ramiro held out, not without some doubts; but it contained something hard and bulky, and evidently was not a letter, of which he might have hesitated to be the bearer. "Well," he said, at length, "I presume, sir, that you would not put upon me any unbecoming task. But your Eminence spoke something regarding the Cardinal of St. Peter's. What do you desire that I should say to him?" he continued, addressing Borgia.
A sort of spasm passed over Cæsar's face, and he kept his teeth firmly pressed together for a moment; but when he answered it was with a calm, though stern voice, "Tell him that no cardinal who dethrones a supreme pontiff ever becomes pope. His holy brethren know him too well. That is all I have to say to him--and now my task is over," he continued, throwing himself back upon the cushions, "let us taste some wine. Will you drink, Signor Lorenzo?"
The young lord excused himself, and shortly after took his leave.
"Too young, I fear me," said Ramiro d'Orco, as Visconti quitted the room.
"All the better," replied Borgia, languidly, "we must work with all kinds of tools, according to our objects, Ramiro--women, valets, boys, wise men. A wise man would not suit me now, for he would conceal half that he has heard. This youth will tell it all, and that is what I desire."
CHAPTER XXII.
While the conversation which I have narrated in the preceding chapter was going on in the rooms above, one of a very different character, though relating to the same topic, took place below. We need not be very long detained in its detail, but there were certain parts therein which must be related. The scene was a small room near that sort of buttery window at which Italian nobles have in all times been accustomed to sell or retail the produce of their estates. The interlocutors were our friend Antonio and the pretended friar Mardocchi, and after the first greetings, the substantial conversation began, by the former gently reproaching him of whom he had aided to cheat the cord, with not having visited him when in the French camp at Vivizano.
"Ah! how did you know I was there?" asked Mardocchi. "Why, I was only one night in all."
"I know everything that happens within a hundred miles of me," replied Antonio, who had discovered the great benefit of assuming more knowledge than he possessed, "you had not been five minutes in the camp before I knew it. But why did you not come?"