Benvenuto, persuaded by the arguments we have heard to make his peace with the all-powerful favorite, on the day following his conversation with Primaticcio took the little golden vase as a peace-offering, and repaired to the Hôtel d'Etampes, with Ascanio leaning on his arm, still very weak and very pale after a night of suffering. In the first place, the footmen refused to announce him at so early an hour, and he lost a good half-hour parleying with them. He had already begun to lose his temper, when Isabeau at last made her appearance, and consented to announce him to her mistress. She returned to say to Benvenuto that the duchess was dressing, and he must wait a short time. He took patience, therefore, and sat himself down upon a stool beside Ascanio, who was considerably overdone, by the walk, in conjunction with his fever and his painful thoughts. An hour passed. Benvenuto began to count the minutes. "After all," he thought, "the toilette of a duchess is the most important function of the day, and I don't propose to lose the benefit of the step I have taken for a quarter of an hour more or less." Nevertheless, in the face of this philosophical reflection, he began to count the seconds. Meanwhile Ascanio turned paler and paler; he was determined to say nothing to his master of his sufferings, and had accompanied him without a word; but he had eaten nothing that morning, and, although he refused to acknowledge it, he felt that his strength was failing him. Benvenuto could not remain seated, but began to stalk up and down the room. A quarter of an hour passed. "Are you suffering, my child?" he asked. "No, master, indeed I'm not: you are the one who is suffering. Be patient, I beg you, for she cannot be long now." At that moment Isabeau appeared again. "Your mistress is very slow," said Benvenuto. The mischievous girl went to the window, and looked at the clock in the courtyard. "Why, you have waited only an hour and a half," she said; "why do you complain, pray?" As Cellini frowned, she laughed in his face, and tripped away. Benvenuto, by a violent effort, subdued his wrath once more. But in order to do it he was obliged to resume his seat, and sat with folded arms, silent and stem. He seemed calm; but his wrath was fermenting silently. Two servants stood like statues at the door, observing him with a serious expression, which seemed to him derisory. The clock struck the quarter. Benvenuto glanced at Ascanio, and saw that he was paler than ever, and almost ready to faint. "Ah ça!" he cried, throwing his self-restraint to the winds, "so this is done designedly! I chose to believe what I was told, and wait good-naturedly: but if an insult is intended--and I am so little wonted to them, that the thought did not occur to me--if an insult is intended, I am not the man to allow myself to be insulted, even by a woman, and I go. Come, Ascanio."