'Well Filippo, I am sure we shall be very pleased to offer you
hospitality.'
'You are most kind.'
'We have annexed the whole place, but I daresay you will be able to find
room somewhere. But come in.'
'Thanks,' I said, 'if you do not mind.'
I found Checco, Bartolomeo and his two sons sitting together. They
jumped up when they saw me.
'What news? What news?' they asked.
Then suddenly I remembered the terrible story I had to tell, for in my
own happiness I had forgotten everything that went before. I suddenly
became grave.
'Bad news,' I said. 'Bad news.'
'Oh, God! I have been foreboding it. Every night I have dreamed awful
things.'
'Checco,' I answered. 'I have done all I could; but, alas! it has been
of no avail. You left me as a protector and I have been able to protect
no one.'
'Go on!'
Then I began my story. I told them how the Council had opened the gates,
surrendering unconditionally, and how the Countess had sallied forth in
triumph. That was nothing. If there had been no worse news for them than
that! But Checco clenched his hands as I related the sacking of his
palace. And I told him how old Orso had refused to fly and had been
seized, while I had lain senseless on the floor.
'You did your best, Filippo,' said Checco. 'You could do nothing more.
But afterwards?'
I told them how Marco Scorsacana and Pietro had been taken prisoners,
and led into the town like thieves caught in the act; how the crowd had
gathered together, and how they had been brought to the square and
hanged from the Palace window, and their bodies torn to pieces by the
people.
'Oh, God!' uttered Checco. 'And all this is my fault.'
I told them that the old Orso was brought forward and taken to his
palace, and before his eyes it was torn down, stone after stone, till
only a heap of ruins marked the site.
Checco gave a sob.
'My palace, my home!'
And then, as if the blow was too great, he bent his head and burst into
tears.
'Do not weep yet, Checco,' I said. 'You will have cause for tears
presently.'
He looked up.
'What more?'
'Your father.'
'Filippo!'
He started up, and stepping back, stood against the wall, his arms
against it, outstretched, with white and haggard face and staring eyes,
like a hunted beast at bay.
I told him how they had taken his father and bound him, and thrown him
down, and tied him to the savage beast, and how he had been dragged
along till his blood spattered on the pavement and his soul left him.
Checco uttered a most awful groan, and, looking up to heaven, as if to
call it in witness, cried,--
'Oh, God!'
Then, sinking into a chair, he buried his face in his hands, and in his
agony swayed from side to side. Matteo went up to him and put his hand
on his shoulder, trying to comfort him; but he motioned him aside.
'Let me be.'
He rose from his seat, and we saw that his eyes were tearless, for his
grief was too great for weeping. Then, with his hands before him like a
blind man, he staggered to the door and left us.
Scipione, the weak man, was crying.