’News?’ drawled Lampugnani. ’O, construe thyself!’ ’The Fool,’ answered Montano, ’sees through us, that is all.’ ’What!’ Visconti’s brows came down. ’Hush! He hath warned me—not finally; only he pledges his silence on the discontinuance of my practices on his cub.’ ’Well,’ said Lampugnani serenely; ’discontinue.’ ’Messer, he looks, with certainty, to the boy being won back to court anon. How, then! shall we let him go?’ ’No!’ rapped out Visconti. ’Yes,’ said Lampugnani. ’I trow his good way is after all our best. Let him go back, and make the State so fast in love with Love as to prove Galeazzo impossible. He will sanctify our holocaust for us.’ ’But the Fool, Messer—the Fool!’ ’Will never conspire against his adored master’s exaltation.’ ’Exaltation? Would ye let this saint, then, to become the people’s idol?’ ’Ay, that we may discredit him presently for an adulterous idol. No saint so scorned as he whose sanctity trips on woman.’ ’What! You think——?’ ’Exactly—yes—the Duchess. _Vale_, Messer Montano!’—and he lifted his cap mockingly, and moved off. In the meanwhile Cicada, having watched, through a slit of the unclosed door, the retreat and disappearance of the philosopher, was about to shut himself in again, with a muttered objurgation or two, when a rapid step sounded without, and on the instant the door was flung back against him, and Messer Lanti strode in. There was no opportunity given him to temporise: the great creature was there in a moment, and had recognised him with a ’pouf!’ of relief. He just accepted the situation, and closed the door upon them both. ’Well,’ he said acridly, ’here you be, and whether for good or ill let the gods answer!’ Lanti stretched his great chest. ’It is well, Fool; and I am well if he is well. Where is he?’ Cicada pointed. The girl by the forge crouched and glared unwinkingly. The next moment Carlo was in his loved one’s arms. ’Why hast hidden thyself, boy?—ah! it is a long while, boy—good to see thee again—stand off—I cannot see thee after all—a curse on these blinking eyes!’ ’Dear Carlo, I have been a little ill; my joints ached.’ He wept himself, and fondled and clung to his friend. ’Thou great soft bully! For shame! Why, I love thee, dear. Wert thou so hurt? O Carlo! I have been most ill in spirit.’ ’Come back, and we will nurse thee.’ ’Alas! What nurses!’ ’The tenderest and most penitent—Bona, first of all.’ The arms slid from his neck. Sweet angel eyes glowered at him. ’Bona to heal my spirit? To pour fire into its wounds rather! O, I had thought her pure till yesterday!’ And, indeed, Montano, in the furtherance of his corroding policy, had spared him no evidences of court scandal. Carlo hung his bullet head. ’Lucia!’ cried the boy suddenly and sternly. The girl, at the word, came slinking to him like a dog, setting her teeth by the way at the stranger. Bernardo put his hand on her lowered head. ’Dost know who this is?’ he asked of Carlo.