Bellarion remained solemn. 'Why do you laugh, sirs? It is no more than true.'
'True!' cried Fenestrella. 'And it was you unhorsed Vignate!'
'That was an accident. I slid aside when he rode at me. He overshot his aim and I took advantage of the moment.'
Valeria's eyes were still upon him, almost incredulous in their glance. Oh, he was utterly without shame. He retorted upon her with the truth; but it was by making the truth sound like a mockery that he defeated her. She looked away at last, nor spoke to him again.
Delivered from her attacks, Bellarion addressed himself to the young Marquis, and by way of polite inquiry into his studies asked him how he liked Virgil.
'Virgilio?' quoth the boy, mildly surprised. 'You know Virgilio, do you? Bah, he's a thieving rogue, but very good with dogs.'
'I mean the poet, my lord.'
'Poet? What poet? Poets are a weariness. Valeria reads me their writings sometimes. God knows why, for there's no sense in them.'
'If you read them to yourself, you might ...'
'Read them to myself? Read? God's bones, sir! You take me for a clerk! Read!' He laughed the notion contemptuously away, and buried his face in his cup.