On descending the stairs, Nina was met by Alvarez.
“Fair page,” said the Spaniard, gaily, “thy name, thou tellest me, is
Villani?--Angelo Villani--why I know thy kinsman, methinks. Vouchsafe,
young master, to enter this chamber, and drink a night-cup to thy lady’s
health; I would fain learn tidings of my old friends.”
“At another time,” answered the false Angelo, drawing the cloak closer
round her face; “it is late--I am hurried.”
“Nay,” said the Spaniard, “you escape me not so easily;” and he caught
firm hold of the page’s shoulder.
“Unhand me, sir!” said Nina, haughtily, and almost weeping, for her
strong nerves were yet unstrung. “Gaoler, at thy peril--unbar the
gates.”
“So hot,” said Alvarez, surprised at so great a waste of dignity in
a page; “nay, I meant not to offend thee. May I wait on thy pageship
tomorrow?”
“Ay, tomorrow,” said Nina, eager to escape.
“And meanwhile,” said Alvarez, “I will accompany thee home--we can
confer by the way.”
So saying, without regarding the protestations of the supposed page, he
passed with Nina into the open air. “Your lady,” said he, carelessly,
“is wondrous fair; her lightest will is law to the greatest noble of
Avignon. Methinks she is of Naples--is it so? Art thou dumb, sweet
youth?”
The page did not answer, but with a step so rapid that it almost put the
slow Spaniard out of breath, hastened along the narrow space between the
tower and the palace of the Signora Cesarini, nor could all the efforts
of Alvarez draw forth a single syllable from his reluctant companion,
till they reached the gates of the palace, and he found himself
discourteously left without the walls.
“A plague on the boy!” said he, biting his lips; “if the Cardinal thrive
as well as his servant, by’re Lady, Monsignore is a happy man!”
By no means pleased with the prospect of an interview with Albornoz,
who, like most able men, valued the talents of those he employed exactly
in proportion to their success, the Spaniard slowly returned home. With
the licence accorded to him, he entered the Cardinal’s chamber somewhat
abruptly, and perceived him in earnest conversation with a Cavalier,
whose long moustache, curled upward, and the bright cuirass worn
underneath his mantle, seemed to betoken him of martial profession.
Pleased with the respite, Alvarez hastily withdrew: and, in fact, the
Cardinal’s thoughts at that moment, and for that night, were bent upon
other subjects than those of love.
The interruption served, however, to shorten the conversation between
Albornoz and his guest. The latter rose.
“I think,” said he, buckling on a short and broad rapier, which he laid
aside during the interview,--“I think, my Lord Cardinal, you encourage
me to consider that our negotiation stands a fair chance of a prosperous
close. Ten thousand florins, and my brother quits Viterbo, and launches
the thunderbolt of the Company on the lands of Rimini. On your part--”
“On my part it is agreed,” said the Cardinal, “that the army of the
Church interferes not with the course of your brother’s arms--there is
peace between us. One warrior understands another!”
“And the word of Giles d’Albornoz, son of the royal race of Arragon, is
a guarantee for the faith of a Cardinal,” replied the Cavalier, with a
smile. “It is, my Lord, in your former quality that we treat.”
“There is my right hand,” answered Albornoz, too politic to heed the
insinuation. The Cavalier raised it respectfully to his lips, and his
armed tread was soon heard descending the stairs.
“Victory,” cried Albornoz, tossing his arms aloof; “Victory, now thou
art mine!”
With that he rose hastily, deposited his papers in an iron chest, and
opening a concealed door behind the arras, entered a chamber that rather
resembled a monk’s cell than the apartment of a prince. Over a mean
pallet hung a sword, a dagger, and a rude image of the Virgin. Without
summoning Alvarez, the Cardinal unrobed, and in a few moments was
asleep.