“Faith, they do growl, somewhat like a herd of untamed bears! Yet, Balvardo, bethink thee—there’s reason for’t. W-h-e-w! When I think of the queer things that have chanced within these few days, I might wonder, I might growl; yes, Balvardo, I might growl, I might wonder!”
“Here, for three long days, since my lord of Florence left the castle, have we seen no sight of the Count Aldarin,” exclaimed the huntsman.—“Mayhap he has buried himself alive—mayhap he has gone up to heaven, or more likely he has gone to—’s life, what a stitch in my side!”
“Softly, softly, sir huntsman, softly! Wise folk speak not lightly of the Count Aldarin. The rope on yonder gibbet swings loosely in the summer wind—thy neck may be the first to stretch its fibres!”
“Blood o’ th’ Turk, yet it does seem queer when one comes to think of it! Not three days ago, it was nothing but ‘saddle me your horses, scour every road, bring back the traitor Guiseppo, and hew off his caitiff head! Now—blood o’ th’ Turk, it puzzles me!’”
“Now, sir Balvardo, the word is: ‘Pay all respect to Guiseppo; honor the youth as myself—he is dear to me in blood, dear to me in heart, honor Guiseppo, he rules the castle in my absence.’”
“Sancta Maria!” cried the ancient tire-woman. “Tell me, gossip, tell me, sir huntsman, how came this about?”
“Not two nights agone, there enters the castle gate, a wandering palmer, clad in rags. Not satisfied with asking alms at the hall door, he must wander along the corridors of the castle, and prowl around the door of the cell where the damsel Rosalind is imprisoned. My Count Aldarin’s suspicions are roused: he flings the beggar’s robes from the palmer’s face, and we all behold the—trim page Guiseppo!”
“Wonder of all wonders! Now, I’ll never be astonished again in all my life!”
“Not even if any one should chance to believe the story of thy age, which thou art wont to tell! Hugo, look at gossip tire-woman, how her eyes are dropping from their sockets!”
“There stood the page Guiseppo—there stood the Count Aldarin! Nice group—eh! Axes and gibbets were the mildest things in our thoughts, when my lord takes the page by the hand, smiles kindly, and leads him away. An hour passes: the supper is spread in the banquet hall: my Lord Aldarin appears, and with him comes Guiseppo, clad in garments of cost—”