Instantly she was all soft and pleading. A fool she was. Nevertheless--indeed, perhaps because of it--she had a ready grasp of the weapons of her sex. 'Oh, Bellarion, I do not threaten. I implore ... I ...' 'Silence were your best agent now.' He was curt. 'I know your wishes, and ...' He broke off with a rough wave of his hand. 'Where should I go?' he asked, but the question was addressed to Fate and not to her. She answered it, however. 'Do you ask that, Bellarion? Why, in this past month since Alessandria fell your fame has gone out over the face of Italy. The credit for two such great victories as those of Travo and Alessandria is all your own, and the means by which you won them are on every man's tongue.' 'Aye! Facino is generous!' he said, and his tone was bitter. 'There's not a prince in Italy would not be glad to employ you.' 'In fact the world is full of places for those we would dismiss.' After that they rode in silence until they were under the walls of the city. 'You'll go, Bellarion?' 'I am considering.' He was very grave, swayed between anger and a curious pity, and weighing other things besides. In the courtyard of the citadel he held her stirrup for her. As she came to earth, and turned, standing very close to him, she put her little hand on his. 'You'll go, Bellarion, I know. For you are generous. This, then, is farewell. Be you fortunate!' He bowed until his lips touched her hand in formal homage. As he came upright again, he saw the square-shouldered figure of Facino in the Gothic doorway, and Facino's watching eyes, he thought, were narrow. That little thing was the last item in the scales of his decision. Facino came to greet them. His manner was pleasant and hearty. He desired to know how the hawking had gone, how many pheasants his lady had brought back for supper, how far afield she had ridden, where Bellarion had joined her, and other similar facts of amiable commonplace inquiry. But Bellarion watching him perceived that his excessively ready smile never reached his eyes. Throughout supper, which he took as usual in the company of his captains and his lady, Facino was silent and brooding, nor even showed great interest when Carmagnola told of the arrival of a large body of Ghibelline refugees from Milan to swell the forces which Facino was assembling against the coming struggle, whether defensive or offensive, with Malatesta and Duke Gian Maria. Soon after the Countess had withdrawn, Facino gave his captains leave. Bellarion, however, still kept his place. His resolve was taken. That which the Countess claimed of him as a sacrifice to her lacerated vanity, he found his sense of duty to Facino claiming also, and his prudent, calculating wits confirming. Facino raised heavy eyes from the contemplation of the board and leaned back in his chair. He looked old that night in the flickering candle-light. His first words betrayed the subject upon which his thoughts had been lingering.