“Ha! ha!” laughed another. “How darst thou speak thus so near her palace?”
“Her palace. I would I could brand her forehead, as I can and will the wall that bears her name.”
As they wondered what he meant, he unbuckled his sword, took hold of it as it was sheathed by the point, and running to the palace door, clambered from boss to boss of the carved stone work till he got near the name “Borgia,” jutting from the face of the doorway. Then he raised the sword, beat its hilt down upon the “B” commencing the name, and in a few moments the letter, splintered to fragments, lay upon the ground.
So those who stood below read on the proud door, and beneath the proud arms of the Borgias, the meaning word “Orgia.”
“Great heaven, Gennaro!” Even the brave Orsini was frightened, and the others looked at each other in terrible inquiry, as they read the terrible truth—“Orgia.”
Said Gubetta, whom they had insolently called Beverana, “In faith, that jest may cost thee dear.”
“In faith, I can pay my debts, Signor.”
“See, Gennaro, there are eyes watching us,” said Orsini; not meaning Gubetta, but two men, dressed in the flowing black cloaks of the time, like shrouds for sin, who met some little distance off in the square, and seemed to defy each other.
The youth Gennaro made no reply to the warning, but gaily saying “good bye, good bye;” turned to his house, and entered it, while the roysterers dispersed in different directions.
The men of the cloaks still seemed to defy each other furtively; still remained; not standing quiet, and yet not walking with a purpose. The sounds of the tripping footsteps dying away, these two men approached each other, each with his arms wrapped in his cloak, and, perhaps, each with his right hand on his sword.