At this the surliness became general once more and my Lord Gambara ventured the opinion—and there was a note of promise, almost of threat, in his sleek tones—that the Duke would shortly be needing Messer Caro's presence in Parma; whereupon Messer Caro cursed the Duke roundly and with all a poet's volubility of invective.
They stayed late, each intent, no doubt, upon outstaying the others. But since none would give way they were forced in the end to depart together.
And whilst Messer Fifanti, as became a host, was seeing them to their horses, I was left alone with Giuliana.
“Why do you suffer those men?” I asked her bluntly. Her delicate brows were raised in surprise. “Why, what now? They are very pleasant gentlemen, Agostino.”
“Too pleasant,” said I, and rising I crossed to the window whence I could watch them getting to horse, all save Caro, who had come afoot. “Too pleasant by much. That prelate out of Hell, now...”
“Sh!” she hissed at me, smiling, her hand raised. “Should he hear you, he might send you to the cage for sacrilege. O Agostino!” she cried, and the smiles all vanished from her face. “Will you grow cruel and suspicious, too?”
I was disarmed. I realized my meanness and unworthiness.
“Have patience with me,” I implored her. “I... I am not myself to-day.” I sighed ponderously, and fell silent as I watched them ride away. Yet I hated them all; and most of all I hated the dainty, perfumed, golden-headed Cardinal-legate.
He came again upon the morrow, and we learnt from the news of which he was the bearer that he had carried out his threat concerning Messer Caro. The poet was on his way to Parma, to Duke Pier Luigi, dispatched thither on a mission of importance by the Cardinal. He spoke, too, of sending my cousin to Perugia, where a strong hand was needed, as the town showed signs of mutiny against the authority of the Holy See.
When he had departed, Messer Fifanti permitted himself one of his bitter insinuations.