It went to their heads, and when Bellarion resumed his seat it was they who now pressed the alliance. No longer asking him what means Facino brought to it, they boasted and exaggerated the importance of those which they could offer.
Thus the treaty came there and then to be drawn up, article by article. The secretaries' pens spluttered and scratched over their parchments, and throughout it seemed to the Regent and his gleeful councillors that they were getting the better of the bargain.
But at the end, when all was done, and the documents complete, Messer Bellarion had a word to say which was as cold water on the white heat to which he had wrought their enthusiasm.
'There remains only the question of a guarantee from you to my Lord Facino.'
'Guarantee!' They echoed the word in a tone which clearly said they did not relish it. The Regent went further.
'Guarantee of what, sir?'
'That Montferrat will fulfil her part of the undertaking.'
'My God, sir! Do you imply a doubt of our honour?'
'It is no question of honour, highness; but of a bargain whose terms are clearly to be set forth to avoid subsequent disputes on either side. Does the word "guarantee" offend your highness? Surely not. For it was your highness who first used that word between us.'
The councillors looked at the Regent. The Regent remembered, and was uncomfortable.