The Duke stared at him a moment, with startled countenance and mouth
agape.

"You are telling me the truth, animal?" he demanded, in a quivering
voice. "It was the Count of Aquila who was wounded and whom Monna
Valentina tended?"

"I swear it," answered the fool. "Now, in the name of God and His
blessed saints, let me down."

For a moment yet he was held there, awaiting Gian Maria's signal. The
Duke continued to eye him with that same astonished look, what time he
turned over in his mind the news he had gathered. Then conviction of the
truth sank into his mind. It was the Lord of Aquila who was the idol of
the Babbianians. What, then, more natural than that the conspirators
should have sought to place him on the throne they proposed to wrest from
Gian Maria? He dubbed himself a fool that he had not guessed so much
before.

"Let him down," he curtly bade his men. "Then take him hence, and let
him go with God. He has served his purpose."

Gently they lowered him, but when his feet touched the ground he was
unable to stand. His legs doubled under him, and he lay--a little crook-
backed heap--upon the rushes of the floor. His senses had deserted him.

At a sign from Armstadt the two men picked him up and carried him out
between them.

Gian Maria moved across the room to a tapestried prie­dieu, and knelt