Bellarion the Fortunate

by Rafael Sabatini

'If it will ease you, lady, you may tell me what you think I am. A woman's breath will neither make nor unmake me.'

'A fool, Facino!'

'My patience gives proof of that, I think. Do you thank God for it.'

And on that he wheeled and sauntered out of the long grey room.

She sat huddled in the chair, her elbows on her knees, her dark blue eyes on the flames that leapt about the great sizzling logs. After a while she spoke.

'Bellarion!'

There was no answer. She turned. The long, high-backed form on which he had sat over against the wall was vacant. The room was empty. She shrugged impatiently, and swung again to the fire.

'And he's a fool, too. A blind fool,' she informed the flames.

It was dinner-time when they returned together. The table was spread, and the lackeys waited.

'When you have dined, madonna,' Facino quietly informed her, 'you will prepare to leave. We return to Milan to-day.'