Shortly before midnight they rode out from the Palace of the old Broletto: Facino, attended by Bellarion for his esquire, a page bestriding a mule that was laden with his armour, and a half-dozen men-at-arms. Facino was silent and pensive. His lady's farewells had lacked the tenderness he craved, and the Duke whose battles he went to fight had not even been present to speed him. He had left the palace to go forth upon this campaign, slinking away like a discharged lackey. The Duke, he had been told, was absent, and for all that he was well aware of the Duke's detestable pernoctations, he preferred to believe that this was merely another expression of that ill will which, despite all that he had done and all that it lay in his power to do, the Duke never failed to display towards him. But as the little company rode in the bright moonlight down the borgo of Porta Giovia, out of a narrow side street emerged a bulky man, almost dragged along by three great hounds straining at the leash and yelping eagerly, their noses to the ground. A slender figure in a cloak followed after him, calling petulantly as he came: 'Not so fast, Squarcia! Body of God! Not so fast, I say. I am out of breath!' There was no mistaking that strident voice. It was the Duke, himself, and close upon his heels came six armed lackeys to make a bodyguard. Squarcia and his powerful hounds crossed the main street of the borgo, almost under the head of Facino's horse, the brawny huntsman panting and swearing as he went. 'I cannot hold them back, Lord Duke,' he answered. 'They're hot upon the scent, and strong as mules, devil take them!' He vanished down the dark gulf of an alley. From the leader of the Duke's bodyguard came a challenge: 'Who goes there at this hour?' Facino loosed a laugh that was full of bitterness. 'Facino Cane, Lord Duke, going to the wars.' 'It makes you laugh, eh?' The Duke approached him. He had missed the bitterness of the laughter, or else the meaning of that bitterness. 'Oh yes, it makes me laugh. I go to fight the battles of the Duke of Milan. It is my business and my pleasure. I leave you, Lord Duke, to yours.' 'Aye, aye! Bring me back the head of that rogue Buonterzo. Good fortune to you!' 'Your highness is gracious.' 'God be with you!' He moved on. 'That rogue Squarcia is getting too far ahead. Ho, there! Squarcia! Damn your vile soul! Not so fast!' The gloom of the alley absorbed him. His bodyguard followed. Again Facino laughed. '"God be with me," says the Duke's magnificence. May the devil be with him. I wonder upon what foulness he is bent to-night, Bellarion.' He touched his horse with the spur. 'Forward!'