"It is getting chill for you," he said; "we had better go in."
"Tell me," she answered, not heeding his remark, "tell me exactly where you are going?"
"I do not know--perhaps to join Piccolomini in Bohemia--perhaps to join Alva in the Low Countries--wherever a soldier's sword has work to do."
"And you will come back?"
"Perhaps."
"A great man, with a condotta of a thousand lances--and forget Pieve."
"As God is my witness--never--but it is chill, Madonna--come in."
When they came in, Bernabo of Pieve was not alone, for standing close to the old man, his back to the fire, and rubbing his hands softly together, was the tall, gaunt figure of the Cavaliere Michele di Lippo.
"A sudden visit, dear cousin," he said, greeting Felicità, and turning his steel-grey eyes, with a look of cold inquiry in them, on Moratti.
"The Captain Guido Moratti--my cousin, the Cavaliere di Lippo."