“My lord,” he cried, struggling into a sitting posture, “my noble, gracious lord, have mercy on me. I could tear out this craven tongue of mine. But did you know what agonies I suffered, and to what a torture they submitted me to render me unfaithful, it may be that you, yourself, would pity me.”
“Why, that I do,” answered Francesco gently. “Indeed, could I have seen the consequences that oath would have for you, I had not bound you by it.”
The fear in Peppe's face gave place to unbelief.
“And you forgive me, lord?” he cried. “I dreaded when you entered that you were come to punish me for what wrong I may have done you in speaking. But if you forgive me, it may be that Heaven will forgive me also, and that I may not be damned. And that were a thousand pities, for what, my lord, should I do in hell?”
“Deride the agonies of Gian Maria,” answered Francesco, with a laugh.
“It were almost worth burning for,” mused Peppe, putting forth a hand, whose lacerated, swollen wrist bore evidence to the torture he had suffered. At sight of it the Count made an exclamation of angry horror, and hastened to inquire into the poor fool's condition.
“It is not so bad now,” Peppe answered him, “and it is only in consequence of Messer Valdicampo's insistence that I have kept my bed. I can scarce use my arms, it is true, but they are improving. To-morrow I shall be up, and I hope to set out for Urbino, where my dear mistress must be distressed with fears for my absence, for she is a very kind and tenderhearted lady.”
This resolve of Peppe's prompted the Count to offer to conduct him to Urbino on the morrow, since he, himself, would be journeying that way—an offer which the fool accepted without hesitation and with lively gratitude.