“Nay, my lord the Duke, we are escorted by my father’s old servant here, since my father, being blind, cannot himself guard us from insults.”
“Ho-ho,” cried the Duke, while his men exchanged amused glances. “Here is a maid without fear in her heart, eh? Insults—who has insulted you?”
Romola made no reply, but child as she was her eyes met the Duke’s bravely. Maso stepped forward timidly, whispering the girls to come away.
The Duke made a gesture, and one of his men, crowding forward, shuffled the old man out of the way, striking at him with his riding whip. The rest encircled the girls, broadly smiling now, and exchanging smothered comments. Lorenzo sate his steed in silence, staring down upon the three. The two young Americans began to feel that the adventure was serious, but this had the effect of making them angry. It was all very well to be a duke, but there were limits.
Rose, stepping forward, straight and slim in her simple gown which resembled the one worn by Romola, suddenly spoke up.
“You ought to be ashamed of stopping three little girls like this,” she said, in a clear voice. “Just because you are a duke doesn’t give you a right to interfere with us. Go on and let us alone, please.”
Lorenzo listened to her with an expression of dreamy amusement. His eyes drooped, and he let the reins fall on his horse’s neck.
“So Lorenzo is chidden in the streets of Florence by babes,” he said at last. “We must see more of these children,” and he turned to his men. “Bring them to the palace,” he said.
Romola clutched the hands of her friends, stepping back as she did so.
“Let be, Lord Duke,” she exclaimed. “We are nothing but children—let us go to our home.”