“Your prevarications answer me,” he cried. “You will not say that I am wrong.”
“But I do say that you are wrong!” I exclaimed, suddenly inspired. “I did not assist the Lord Giovanni with his verses. I swear it.”
His laughter faded; and his eyes surveyed me with a sudden solemnity.
“Then why did you evade my question?” he demanded shrewdly. And then his countenance changed as swiftly again. It was illumined by the light of sudden understanding. “I have it,” he cried. “The answer is plain. You did not assist the Lord Giovanni to write them. Why? Because you wrote them yourself, and you gave them to him that he might pass them off as his own.”
It was a merciful thing for me that the whole company fell into a burst of laughter and applauded Filippo’s quick discernment, which they never doubted. All talked at once, and a hundred proofs were advanced in support of Filippo’s opinion. The Lord Giovanni’s celebrated dullness of mind, amounting almost to stupidity, was cited, and they reminded one another of the profound astonishment with which they had listened to the compositions that had suddenly burst from him.
Filippo turned to his sister, on whose pale face I saw it written that she was as convinced as any there, and my feelings were those of a dastard who has broken faith with the man who trusted him.
“Do you appreciate now, Madonna,” he murmured, “the deceits and wiles by which that craven crept like a snake into your esteem?”
I guessed at once that by that thrust he sought to incline her more to the union he had in view for her.
“At least he was no craven,” answered she. “His burning desire to please me may have betrayed him into this foolish duplicity. But he still must live in my memory as a brave and gallant gentleman; or have you forgotten, Filippo, that noble combat with the forces of Ramiro del’ Orca?”
To such a question Filippo had no answer, and presently his mood sobered a little. For myself, I was glad when the time came to withdraw from that company that twitted and pestered me and played upon my sense of shame at the imprudence I had committed.