’See, we’ll be reasonable,’ he said, mockingly insinuative; ’a twin amity of dialecticians, ardent for the truth, cooing like love-birds. "Well, on my faith, he’s a traitor," says you; and "your faith shall be mine on vindication, sweet brother," says I. Now, what proves him traitor? I ask.’ ’He rules the palace.’ ’Why, I set him in my place.’ ’You did indeed; but—ah! dare I say what’s whispered?’ ’You ’d better.’ ’Why—O, mercy! Bid me not.’ ’I’ll not ask again.’ ’You force me to it—that, being there, he designs to stay.’ ’He’ll be Duke?’ ’No, no.’ ’You shall wince with better reason. Dog, you dog my patience. I’ll turn. What then?’ ’Only that he sits for Christ. Let them depose him that are devils’ men.’ ’My men?’ ’O! he’s subtle. No word against your Grace; only the dumb pleas of love and pity courting comparison.’ ’With what?’ ’Your Grace’s sharper methods.’ ’Beast! Did I not waive them for his sake? Did I not leave my conscience in his keeping?’ ’Alas! if thou didst, he’s used it, like a false friend, in damning evidence against thee.’ ’O Judas!’ ’Used it to point the moral of his own large tolerance. The people rise to him—cry him in the streets: "Down with Galeazzo! Nature’s our God!"’ ’Ha! He’s Nature?’ ’As they read him—lord of the slums.’ ’Lord of filthy swine. I’ll ring their snouts. Well, goon. God of the slums, is he?’ ’God of thy palace, too; mends and amends thy laws—sugars them for sweet palates—gains the women—O, a prince of confectioners! There’s the ring to prove.’ ’What!’ ’I can guess when he wheedled it.’ ’Thou canst?’ ’The moment thy back was turned. So quick he sped to discredit thee—to reverse thy judgments. The monk thou’d left to starve, a dog well-served—he’d release him, a fine text to open on. But Jacopo was obdurate—would not let him pass, neither him nor Cicada——’ ’What! the Fool?’ ’O, they’re in one conspiracy—inseparable. He’s to be Vizier some day.’ ’I’ll remember that.’ ’So he ran off, and presently returned with a pass-token. I guessed not what at the time; now I guess. It was the ring he’d coaxed from Madonna.’ ’And saved the monk thereby?’ ’Ah-ha! Jacopo had forestalled him; the monk was dead.’ ’What did he then?’ ’Cursed thy lord’s Grace, and ran; ran and hid himself away among the people, he and his Fool, and spat his poison in that sewer, to fester and bear fruit. ’Twas only presently the Duchess heard of him, and persuaded him on sweet promise of amendment back to the Court. He’s made the most of that concession since, using it to——’