I was still at my thoughts, still pondering this most perplexing situation, the hostess standing silent by the door, when suddenly Madonna Paola spoke.
“Sir,” said she, in faltering accents, “I—I have not the right to ask you, and I stand already so deeply in your debt. Not a doubt of it, but it will have inconvenienced you to have journeyed thus far to inform me of the flight of my grooms. Yet if you could—” She paused, timid of proceeding, and her glance fell.
The hostess was all ears, struck by the respectful manner in which this very evidently noble lady addressed a Fool. I opened the door for her.
“You may leave us now,” said I. “I will come to you presently.”
When she was gone I turned once more to the lady, my course resolved upon. My hate had conquered my last doubt. What first imported was that I should get to Pesaro and to Madonna Lucrezia.
“You were about to ask me,” said I, “that I should accompany you to Pesaro.”
“I hesitated, sir,” she murmured. I bowed respectfully.
“There was not the need, Madonna,” I assured her. “I am at your service.”
“But, Messer Boccadoro, I have no claim upon you.”
“Surely,” said I, “the claim that every distressed lady has upon a man of heart. Let us say no more. It were best not to delay in setting out, although I can scarcely think that there is any imminent danger from Ramiro del’ Orca now.”