'Have comfort, Lupo. We are all good republicans. The exaltation of
Messer Bembo is to be provisional only, preceding the consummation. He
is to be lifted like the Host, to bring the people to their knees, and
then lowered, and----'
'Put away,' said Lampugnani blandly.
The armourer started to his feet in agitation.
'Messers!' he cried, 'he poured oil into my wounds; I will consent to no
such wickedness.'
'_You_ won't?' roared Visconti; but Lampugnani soothed him down.
'When I said "put away," I meant in a tabernacle, like that sacred
bread. I assure you, Lupo, he is the rose of our adoration also; he
shall cultivate his thorn in peace; he shall wax fat like Jeshurun, and
kick.'
'And in the meantime,' grumbled Visconti, 'we are measuring our fish
before we've hooked him.'
Lampugnani's face took on a very odd expression.
'What the devil's behind that?' hectored the bully.
'O, little!' purred the other. 'I fancy I feel him nibble, that's all.
Perhaps you don't happen to know how he hath cut his connection with the
palace?'
'What! When?'
They all jumped to stare at him.
'This day,' he said, 'in offence of some carrion of Galeazzo's which he
had nosed out. The poor boy is particular in his tastes, for a
shambles--ran like a sheep from the slaughter-house door, taking his
Patch with him, and a ring her Grace had loaned him for a safe-conduct.
I heard it said she would have been ravished of anything rather--by him.
'Twas her lord's troth-gift. The castle is one fume of lamentation.'
Montano, rubbing his lean hands between his knees, went into a rejoicing
chatter:--
'We have him, we have him! Gods! who's here?'
Their intentness had deafened them some minutes earlier to a more
mouthing note in the thunder of the rain, as if the swell of the tempest
had been opened an instant and shut. The moment, in fact, and a
master-key, had let in a new comer. He had closed the latch behind him,
and now, seeing himself observed, stood ducking and lowering in the
blinking light. The philosopher heaved a tremulous sigh of relief.
'Narcisso!'
The hulking creature grinned, and stabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
'Hist! him you speak of's out there, a-seeking your worship.'
'Seeking _me_? Messer Bembo?'
'Why not? A' met him at the town gate half-drowned, with his Patch to
heel. The report of his running was got abroad, and, thinks I to
myself, here's luck to my masters. To take him on the hop of grievance
like----'