weary gesture, put her head upon the man’s shoulder.  He embraced her with his arm, bent his head and kissed her.  Stooping yet lower, he kissed her lap.  I saw that she had a child asleep there.  Just then both of them heard, as I did, the horse’s hoof strike on a stone.  They both started, and looked up towards me.  My heart stood still, my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth.  Those two were Belviso and Virginia—­and the child! the child!  In a flash of instantaneous reflection I remembered that a year ago Belviso had gone to Lucca to find Virginia, had reported her to me as not there, and at Arezzo had asked leave to seek her again.

Oh, monstrous thought!  Oh, monstrous thinker, Francis!  But I was incapable of justice or reason.  I thought here to see the mockery of God; and I, who imagined so wickedly, went on to deal wickedness.

I strode down the hill upon them without a word, my eyes blazing like coals.  Both recognised me at the same moment.  Virginia stood up, holding her child close to her, but never budged; Belviso cried, “Master!” and started towards me.  When he saw with what countenance I was coming, he faltered and stood ill at ease.  In my blind fury I put this down to his guilt; good God, what more did I meditate?  Oh, horrible!  I stopped and cocked my pistol.

“Ah, false wife once,” I said terribly, “and now false mistress!  Traitress, with this traitor whom I believed my friend——­”

Belviso here gave a cry and held up his hand.  He was looking, not at me, but behind me to the slope down which I had come.  “Master, beware, beware,” he called out in his ringing young voice.  “Palamone is behind you.  Treachery indeed!”

I turned, and saw that he spoke the truth.  Fra Palamone, booted and spurred, with a huge black cloak flagging about him, was close upon me, walking his horse tenderly down the hill.  His face was distorted with a grin, there was a light, scared look in one of his eyes, whose brow was lifted more than the other.  If ever appearance foretold mischief, that did his.

He saw that I was armed, no doubt, for he reined up out of shooting distance, bowed to me, and spoke my name.  I asked him what he wanted.

“A little talk, if you please, Don Francis,” he said in his blandest tone, “a little friendly talk.”

“You rascal,” said I, “a cudgelling was the upshot of your last.  Do you want another?  Have you earned it yet?”

“God do so unto me if I meditate any harm to your Excellency,” said the old villain.  “Upon Christ’s life and death I can do you a service at last, and so I will.  Know first of all that the most charitable deed you ever did in your life was to break your cane over my wicked body.  Yes, yes, I tell you truly, you saved a soul that day, and I care not who knows it.  Sir, sir!” said he earnestly, “I am here not only to thank you for having restored me my soul, but to give you a letter which will restore you your wife, and tell you the whole truth about her into the bargain.”