"I see, Signore, you not only carry a sharp sword; but know a book as well."
"As for books, Signore," I answered, "I know but little of them. This one, however, I thought I had seen before."
"Indeed," he said, "that is odd, for I believe this is the only rendering of Plutarch into Italian which is in existence. Strange, too, as for over a week I could not find it anywhere."
"Very," I answered shortly, and my host, pouring out a glass for me, helped himself, and settling comfortably in a chair opposite to me, slowly removed his mask and laid it aside. I saw before me, a man in the prime of life, of middle height and slender figure, with however a great dignity of carriage. His head, covered with short dark hair, was small, but well-shaped, his dark eyes sparkled with intelligence, and a slightly aquiline nose curved over a pair of thin, sarcastic lips, which were however now smiling at me with as much good-humour as they could express.
"Books," he said, "are the delight of my life, without them all would be stale. Here," and he held up a volume, "is a priceless treasure. It is a manuscript copy of Cicero's De Gloria. I obtained it from my friend, poor Angelo Poliziano."
"I am afraid," I said, "I could only look at it, for I have not studied the ancients."
He laid down the book: "Of a truth, men were giants in those days--but hark! That is too loud for a rat." At this moment we heard a distinct rustling behind the tapestry, which hung on one side of the wall. My host sprang up, and with his drawn rapier in his hand, lifted the arras. I followed him; but we observed nothing but a door, which was concealed behind the curtain. "This is a private door leading to the corridor, and confound it--it is open. How the devil did this happen? However, this will make things sure." He turned the key which was in the lock, and removing it, placed it carefully aside in a drawer, and his face was shaded a little with anxiety. This however he brushed off like a fly, and resuming our seats, he poured out some more wine for both of us, and said:
"Signore, now that I observe you closely, it appears to me that your sword, good as it is, has not helped you to fill your purse."
"It was able to save your life, Messer--I know not your name," I answered with a little heat, and rose as if to take my leave. He laughed cheerfully, and putting his hand on my shoulder, pressed me back into my chair.
"Sit down, signore, I meant no offence, and my name is Niccolo Machiavelli. Will you give me yours in return?"