My anger got the better of my judgment.  “You black-souled thief,” I said, “you shall have just what you deserve.”

He still grinned and glared.  I think he still hoped for more money.  I had my malacca cane in my hand, caught him with the other by the neck-gear and beat him till the stick was in splinters.  It was like thrashing a sack of flour, for he lay like that under his punishment, and the dust that flew out of him filled the room.  When I had done I threw him from me, went to the door and opened it.  Belviso was outside, pale and trembling.  I sent him for a corporal’s guard, at the sound of which order, before the lad could obey it, the frate rose, howling like a lost dog, ran swiftly to the window and leapt out into the street.  He was not hurt, apparently, for I heard his howls far down the Via di Citta; and he must have run like the wind, for when they searched the country half an hour later there was no sign of him to be seen.

Belviso, who had witnessed this startling end, came trembling out of the corner of the room with his hands stretched out.  He knelt down before me, his face hidden between his arms.

“Terrible man!” he said, shuddering; “but oh, signore, he has awoken the God in you.  Have no fear, he will trouble you no more.”

“I believe not,” said I.  “On the other hand, he will not find me Virginia.  Get up, Belviso, let us take counsel together.  What is your opinion?”

Belviso, thus adjured, rose to his feet and stood humbly before me.  He was agitated—­if by fear, then curiously; but it did not seem to be fear which put the slurred accents into his voice.

“Senta, Don Francesco,” he began, “what Virginia has done was all for love.  She has acted according to her nature—­as many would act—­as all would act towards you, who knew your worth.  O Dio!” cried the lad suddenly, gripping his chest with both hands, “O Dio!  I would prove my love in the same sort if I were—­if I were not—­if you were—­if you were not——­” He began to weep piteously.

I stared.  “What is the matter with you, Belviso?” I asked him.  “What would you do if you were, or were not, something which you are, or are not?  Riddles, riddles, my dear.”  I was sorry he had seen me in such a rage, and laid a kindly arm upon his drooped shoulders.  But Belviso sprang away.

“Don’t touch me—­do not touch me,” he said, panting.  “You little know—­ you cannot guess—­and you never shall!  What! shall I prove such an ingrate?  You have befriended me, lifted me out of the mud.  I have a soul now, it is worth saving.  Virginia, that savage, fine girl, is not the only servant in the world.  No, Mother Diana, we have hearts too in the Veneto——­” He swept the storm from his eyes and calmed himself by the gesture.  “Don Francis,” he said, “let me leave you at this moment.  I will find your Virginia—­that fine girl.  Trust me, leave all to me.  I know Tuscany and the Tuscans.  I will give her to you, never fear.  In six weeks from now I will have her snug in Lucca.  There you shall find her if you still want her, and if you do not——­”