She brightened at my promise that at least if other measures proved unavailing, we should adopt that course, and her brightening flattered me, for it bore witness to the supreme confidence she had in me.
“Lazzaro,” said she, “I know you will not fail me. I trust you more than any living mam; more, I think, than even the Lord Giovanni, whom, if God pleases, I shall some day wed.”
“Thanks, Madonna mia,” I answered, gratefully indeed. “It is a trust that I shall ever strive to justify. Meanwhile have faith and hope, and wait.”
Once before, when, to escape the schemes of her brother who would have wed her to the Lord Giovanni, she had appealed to me, the counsel I had given her had been much the same as that which I gave her now. At the irony of it I could have laughed had any other been in question but Madonna Paola—this tender White Flower of the Quince that was like to be rudely wilted by the ruthless hands of scheming men.
CHAPTER XII.
THE GOVERNOR OF CESENA
That night I would have supped in my own quarters but that Filippo sent for me and bade me join him and swell the little court he kept. At times I believe he almost thought that he was the true Lord of Pesaro—an opinion that may have been shared by not a few of the citizens themselves. Certainly he kept a greater state and was better housed than the duke of Valentinois’ governor.
It was a jovial company of perhaps a dozen nobles and ladies that met about his board, and Filippo bade his servants lay for me beside him. As we ate he questioned me touching the occupation that I had found during my absence from Pesaro. I used the greatest frankness with him, and answered that my life had been partly a peasants, partly a poet’s.
“Tell me what you wrote,” he bade me his eyes resting on my face with a new look of interest, for his love of letters was one of the few things about him that was not affected.
“A few novelle, dealing with court-life; but chiefly verses,” answered I.
“And with these verses—what have you done?”