Bellarion looked at him, and smiled. Never, do I believe, did a Prince find a bride more richly dowered.'
'A bride?' The youth was startled, terrified almost. 'A bride?'
'Would less content your highness? Would you be satisfied to receive the assistance of the Countess's possessions, when you may make them your own and wield them at your pleasure?'
He stared, his jaw fallen. Then slowly he brought his lips together again, and licked them thoughtfully, screwing up his mean eyes.
'You are proposing that I should take to wife Facino's widow, who is twice my age?' He asked the question very slowly, as if pondering each word of it.
Bellarion laughed. 'Not proposing it, highness. It is not for me to make such proposals. I do not even know what the lady will say. But if she is willing to become Duchess of Milan, she can provide the means to make you Duke.'
Filippo Maria sat down suddenly. The sweat broke from his pale brow. He mopped it with his hand, disturbing the black fringe that disfigured it. Then, lost in thought, he stroked the loose folds of his enormous chin, and gradually his eyes kindled.
At long length he put forth his hand again to the bell. This time Bellarion did not interfere. He perceived in the act the young Prince's surrender to the forces of greed and lust which Bellarion himself had loosed against him.
He took his leave, and went out with the sad knowledge that greed and wantonness would make of the woman, too, a ready prey.
His work was done. She should have the thing she coveted, and find in it her punishment ...