Fra Gervasio, who was then my tutor, and with whom my mornings were spent
in perfecting my Latin and giving me the rudiments of Greek, soon had his
suspicions of where the hour of the siesta was spent by me with old
Falcone. But the good, saintly man held his peace, a matter which at that
time intrigued me. Others there were, however, who thought well to bear
the tale of our doings to my mother, and thus it happened that she came
upon us that day in the armoury, each of us in shirt and breeches at
sword-and-target play.

We fell apart upon her entrance, each with a guilty feeling, like children
caught in a forbidden orchard, for all that Falcone held himself proudly
erect, his grizzled head thrown back, his eyes cold and hard.

A long while it seemed ere she spoke, and once or twice I shot her a
furtive comprehensive glance, and saw her as I shall ever see her to my
dying day.

Her eyes were upon me. I do not believe that she gave Falcone a single
thought at first. It was at me only that she looked, and with such a
sorrow in her glance to see me so vigorous and lusty, as surely could not
have been fetched there by the sight of my corpse itself. Her lips moved
awhile in silence; and whether she was at her everlasting prayers, or
whether she was endeavouring to speak but could not for emotion, I do not
know. At last her voice came, laden with a chill reproach.

"Agostino!" she said, and waited as if for some answer from me.

It was in that instant that rebellion stirred in me. Her coming had turned
me cold, for all that my body was overheated from the exercise and I was
sweating furiously. Now, at the sound of her voice, something of the