"Seven," the Count laconically amended, resuming his hat and loosening
his sword in its scabbard.

"Not so, my lord," exclaimed Lodi, laying a hand upon the Count's arm.
"You must not stay with us. You are our only hope--the only hope of
Babbiano. If we are indeed betrayed--though by what infernal means I
know not--and they have knowledge that six traitors met here to-night to
conspire against the throne of Gian Maria, at least, I'll swear, it is
not known that you were to have met us. His Highness may conjecture, but
he cannot know for sure, and if you but escape, all may yet he well--
saving with us, who matter not. Go, my lord! Remember your promise to
seek at your cousin's hand the gonfalon, and may God and His blessed
Saints prosper your Excellency."

The old man caught the young man's hand, and bending his head until his
face was hidden in his long white hair, he imprinted a kiss of fealty
upon it. But Aquila was not so easily to be dismissed.

"Where are your horses?" he demanded.

"Tethered at the back. But who would dare ride them at night adown this
precipice?"

"I dare for one," answered the young man steadily, "and so shall you all
dare. A broken neck is the worst that can befall us, and I would as lief
break mine on the rocks of Sant' Angelo as have it broken by the
executioner of Babbiano."

"Bravely said, by the Virgin!" roared Ferrabraccio. "To horse, sirs!"