Cavalcanti shrugged and let his arms fall to his sides. To Galeotto this proud, stern baron seemed most oddly dispirited.
“I see that we must talk,” he said. “Things are speeding well and swiftly now,” he added, dropping his voice. “But more of that presently. I have much to tell you.”
When they had reached the chamber that was Galeotto's, and the doors were closed and Falcone was unbuckling his master's spurs—“Now for my news,” said the condottiero. “But first, to spare me repetitions, let us have Agostino here. Where is he?”
The look on Cavalcanti's face caused Galeotto to throw up his head like a spirited animal that scents danger.
“Where is he?” he repeated, and old Falcone's fingers fell idle upon the buckle on which they were engaged.
Cavalcanti's answer was a groan. He flung his long arms to the ceiling, as if invoking Heaven's aid; then he let them fall again heavily, all strength gone out of them.
Galeotto stood an instant looking at him and turning very white. Suddenly he stepped forward, leaving Falcone upon his knees.
“What is this?” he said, his voice a rumble of thunder. “Where is the boy? I say.”
The Lord of Pagliano could not meet the gaze of those steel coloured eyes.
“O God!” he groaned. “How shall I tell you?”