The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
the secretary's lodging, punctually to the hour, and was received by
Gian, who, after a respectful inquiry concerning my health, ushered me
into an apartment, where, on entering, I found myself alone. I had to
wait some little time, and wondering at the strangeness of my
reception, I walked towards a window, overlooking the private gardens
of the house. As I reached it, I heard the rustle of trailing
garments, and turning round beheld Angiola before me. She came up with
outstretched hands, and I took them in mine, and looked into her eyes.
Then I found words; they come to every man at the right time, and I
spoke. She made no answer as I pleaded my cause, and fearing the
worst, I dropped her hands, with a bitter reproach against my age and
my scarred face. When I had done she remained still, with her eyes
down, and there was a silence. Then she looked up again.
"Di Savelli," and her voice was very low, "you say your face is
scarred by wounds. Do you know, cavaliere, I would I were a man, that
I too might bear wounds on my face, and looking in my mirror, see how
they became me." And the rest concerns not anyone.
* * * * *
We were married before the end of the truce, and on my wedding day, I
received from His Majesty the King, the patents of the county of
Fresnoy, in Guienne, a distinction that was extended to me in Italy,
by His Holiness Pope Pius III., who, on my purchasing a portion of my
ancestral estates back from Amilcar Chigi, confirmed to me the title
in my native land. But the gift I valued most of all, was a tari of
Amalfi, to which still clung a shred of the gold link, by which it had
been attached to a bracelet. And this was from my wife!
CHAPTER XXVII.
MY LORD, THE COUNT.
_Portion of a letter from the Countess di Savelli to her
cousin Vittoria Ordelaffi of Forli_.
* * * * *
It is, as you know, gentle cousin, six years since my lord, having
lost his sword-arm at the storming of Santa Croce, retired to his
castle of Aquila in the Sabine Mountains, and ceased to help further
in stirring the times. In truth, he has yielded to my wish in this
matter, and although, in the war of the Holy League, he was offered a
command, Di Savelli, at my entreaty, refused the honour.
The count, my lord, is well, but his wounds troubling him in the
winter, he may no longer follow the wolf in our mountains, yet still
hunts the stag in the Ciminian Forests of our kinsman, Amilcar Chigi,
to whom we have been reconciled, and whom we visit yearly.
Last winter we spent in France, at the chateau of the Seigneur de
Bayard, which lies on the Garonne, and met there, amongst others,
Madame de la Tremouille, who is now a widow, the Duke having died of a
tertian ague at Milan. There also was a very gay and noble gentleman,
the Viscompte de Briconnet, who avers that my lord owes him a county
for having forestalled him in bearing to the king the news of the
surrender of Borgia. My Lord of Bayard, whom the Count thinks above
all men, visits us in the autumn; and, gentle cousin, come you too,
for we are to have a house full. The children are well, and Ugo grows
a strong boy, but wilful. He has his father's features, but my eyes.
They have just gone a riding, my lord on his great war horse Castor,
and Ugo on his little white pony, bred on our farm in the Bergamasque.
I see them as I write, going down the avenue.
Your namesake Vittoria, sends you a hundred kisses, and bids you come
and be heartily welcome. I send this by a sure hand, that of my lord's
esquire, Messer Jacopo Jacopi, a faithful servant and a good sword,
though his tongue be ever wagging. Give him an answer, to say you are
coming.
* * * * *
THE END.