“But what is the meaning of PLAC?” he asked, and he had paled a little with excitement.
“I have a feeling that it is a sign. I cannot say more. I can but point it out to you, my lord, and leave the deciphering of it to yourself, who are more skilled than most men in such matters. Have I your excellency's leave to go doff this dusty garb?” he concluded.
“Ay, go, sir,” answered the Duke abstractedly, puzzling now with knitted brows over the coin that bore his image.
“Come, Falcone,” said Galeotto, and with his equerry at his heels he set his foot on the first step.
Cosimo leaned forward, a sneer on his white hawk-face, “I trust, Ser Galeotto, that you are a better condottiero than a charlatan.”
“And you, sir,” said Galeotto, smiling his sweetest in return, “are, I trust, a better charlatan than a condottiero.”
He went up the stairs, the gaudy throng making way before him, and he came at last to the top, where stood the Lord of Pagliano awaiting him, a great trouble in his eyes. They clasped hands in silence, and Cavalcanti went in person to lead his guest to his apartments.
“You have not a happy air,” said Galeotto as they went. “And, Body of God! it is no matter for marvel considering the company you keep. How long has the Farnese beast been here?”
“His visit is now in its third week,” said Cavalcanti, answering mechanically.
Galeotto swore in sheer surprise. “By the Host! And what keeps him?”