“The Lord of Mondolfo—you, thus?” quoth he. “Now, by Bacchus, I am the Pope of Rome!”
But his wife, more tender-hearted, saw in my disorder cause for pity rather than irony.
“Poor lad!” she murmured, as I staggered and fell into a chair, unable longer to retain my feet. She rose immediately, and came hurrying towards me with a basin of goat's milk. The draught refreshed my body as her gentle words of comfort soothed my troubled soul. Seated there, her stout arm about my shoulders, my head pillowed upon her ample, motherly breast, I was very near to tears, loosened in my overwrought state by the sweet touch of sympathy, for which may God reward her.
I rested in that place awhile. Three hours I slept upon a litter of straw in an outhouse; whereupon, strengthened by my repose, I renewed my claim to be the Lord of Mondolfo and my demand for a horse to carry me to my fortress.
Still doubting me too much to trust me alone with any beast of his, the peasant nevertheless fetched out a couple of mules and set out with me for Mondolfo.
BOOK III. THE WILDERNESS
CHAPTER I. THE HOME-COMING
It was still early morning when we came into the town of Mondolfo, my peasant escort and I.