father and who went nigh to being Falcone's god. And this his answer
plainly showed.

"The ways into which I lead your son, Madonna," said he in a low voice that
boomed up and echoed in the groined ceiling overhead, "are the ways that
were trod by my lord his father. And who says that the ways of Giovanni
d'Anguissola were evil ways lies foully, be he man or woman, patrician or
villein, pope or devil." And upon that he paused magnificently, his eyes
aflash.

She shuddered under his rough speech. Then answered without looking up,
and with no trace of anger in her voice:

"You are restored to health and strength by now, Messer Falcone. The
seneschal shall have orders to pay you ten gold ducats in discharge of all
that may be still your due from us. See that by night you have left
Mondolfo."

And then, without changing her deadly inflection, or even making a
noticeable pause, "Come, Agostino," she commanded.

But I did not move. Her words had fixed me there with horror. I heard
from Falcone a sound that was between a growl and a sob. I dared not look
at him, but the eye of my fancy saw him standing rigid, pale, and
self-contained.

What would he do, what would he say? Oh, she had done a cruel, a bitterly
cruel wrong. This poor old warrior, all scarred and patched from wounds
that he had taken in my father's service, to be turned away in his old age,
as we should not have turned away a dog! It was a monstrous thing.