"Do you not know that I struck this big fellow in the castle court at Milan because he was insolent?" said Bayard. "He vowed he would kill me before the week was out, and, depend upon it, he mistook you for me. He knew I was coming hither, and thought I was coming alone; for at first the king ordered me to carry you the news of your nomination, but he afterwards changed his mind, and sent it by the trumpet who was going to Pavia. He might not have killed me as easily as he thought; but he met a still worse playfellow in you, for you killed him instead. You were always exceedingly skilful with rapier and dagger, though I think I am your equal with the lance."
"O! superior far," answered Lorenzo. "So he is dead, is he? I have but a confused notion of all that took place last night. I only know that he attacked me like a wild beast, and I had not even time to draw my dagger."
"Ay! dead enough," replied De Terrail. "I had a look at him as he lies below in the hall, and a more fell visage I never saw on a corpse. Your sword went clear through him, from the right side to the left; and you only gave him what he well merited--the murderous scoundrel, to poison his weapons!"
"That is a practice which sometimes must be had resort to, when men serve great princes," observed Ramiro, with a quiet smile, "but in a private quarrel it is base."
"Ay, base enough any way," replied the young Bayard. "However, you have rid me of an enemy and the world of an assassin, Lorenzo, and I hope you will not suffer long. But there, the day is coming up in the east, and I must on to Pavia presently. I had orders last night to ride early this morning and mark out our quarters; but when your good fellow there gave us news of your danger, I came on, by De Vitry's order, to see if we could defend you."
"If you will wait but half an hour, and break your fast with us in the hall," said Ramiro d'Orco, "I will ride on with you, and take advantage of the escort of your men-at-arms, Signor de Terrail."
"Willingly," answered the other; "some breakfast were no bad thing; for, good faith! we supped lightly last night. But I will go and see that all is ready for departure when we have done our meal."
He quitted the room, and Ramiro d'Orco soon after followed, promising to see his patient again before he departed for the South.
Left alone with his young lord, Antonio drew nearer, and, bending down his head, said, "I wonder, signor, what charm you have used upon the Signor d'Orco to make his hard iron as soft as soap. Why, he is the picture of tenderness--Mercy weeping over the guilt of sinners--a lineal descendant from the good Samaritan, or of that gentleman from whom the Frangipani are descended, or some other of the charitable heroes of antiquity. He was never known to shed a tear that was not produced by something that tickled his nose, or to laugh except when he saw the grimaces of a man broken on the wheel."
"Hush, hush!" said Lorenzo; "to me he has been very kind, and I must judge of people as I find them."