"The Herr Professor thinks it is quite clear that this young man, on his arrival at the Palace of the great noble whose wife he was to paint, fell in love with some girl of her retinue, possibly having recognised some friend of early childhood; and that the Duchess fell in love with _him_. Naturally--because we must bear in mind this was in the Middle Ages, or nearly--jealousy would prompt assassination of one or both of the young lovers...." "But who was the Old Devil? That's what I want to know." "Evidently the wicked Duchess herself." "What did she want to have her portrait painted for if she was old?" "The Herr Professor conjectures that the reason our young painter remained stupefied when he first saw the Duchess was that she turned out not to be young at all, but old and repulsive." Madeline looked doubtful. "Then the idea was that the Duchess personally conducted the examination of the girl--caught the two young people spooneying, and had her murdered on the spot. And that the young man thereon went straight for her throat. After which she naturally felt that it would be difficult to get on a tender footing with him, as she had wished to do, and had him consigned to a dungeon for life." Madeline disagreed. "No," said she, "I don't think the Professor's at all a good theory. Mine's better. Go on reading. I'll tell you mine presently." Mr. Pelly refound his place and went on reading. "'... Had my grip on the Old Devil's throat. And also I had felt his approval in his hands as he helped to bear me away from the _Stanza delle Quattro Corone_, though my senses failed too fast for me to understand what he said to his comrade. Yet I thought, too, it sounded like "_Un bel giovane per Bacco!_" So when at last I was unbound, and stood in the forecourt of a great castle in the middle of a group of men, some of whom had torches--for it was then well on into the night--and dogs that I had heard barking through the last short half-hour of our approach up the steep and stony ascent to the great gates that had now clanged to, as I judged then, for my last passage through them either way--I, though stiff and in pain, and in a kind of dumb stupor as I stood there, could still resolve a little in my mind what might even now be done to help me in my plight. "'I caught the words of the third horseman--he who had ridden on in front--to a huge bloated man who seemed to be the seneschal or steward in charge of the place, who went hobbling on a stick, seeming dropsical and short of breath. "'We have brought another guest, _Sir Ferretti_, for your hospitality. _Sua Eccellenza_ hopes you have room; good accommodation--a clean straw bed or some fresh-gathered heather. _Sua Eccellenza_ would not have needless discomfort for your guests at the Castello. A long life to them is the _brindisi_ of _sua Eccellenza--sempre sempre_." That is to say, for all time.