His brain, through all the mazes of council, went tracing out a busy
thread of self-policy. If this were really the end, he must hurry to
foreclose on it ere the split widened into a gulf--before ever the first
whisper of its opening reached Tassino's ears. The time for temporising
was closed.
'It touches, your Grace,' he purred, 'upon the reception to be accorded
the envoys of Ferrara and Mantua.'
The wind of a fall, like the wind of an avalanche, runs before the body
of it. Messer Bembo, passing out, amazed, from his rebuff, found in
himself an illustration of this inevitable human truism. All the
envies, spites, and jealousies which his sweetness, under favour, had
kept at bay, seemed now gathered in his path to hustle and insult him.
'Good Master Nature,' mocked one, 'hast ever a collop in thy pocket for
a starved woodman?'
'See how he stumbles, missing his leading-strings!' cackled another.
A third knocked off his bonnet.
'Prophesy, who is he that smote thee!' he cried, and ducking, came up
elsewhere.
'Ay, prophesy!' thundered a fourth voice; and a fist like a rammer
crashed upon the assailant's face, spread-eagling it. The man went down
in a welter. Bembo fled to Lanti's arms, feebly imprisoning them.
'Thou thing of bloody passions!' he shrieked. 'Wouldst thou so vindicate
me?'