They went up, Barbaresco leading, to a long, low-ceilinged chamber of the mezzanine, the walls of which were hung with soiled and shabby tapestries, the floor of which had been unswept for weeks. His lordship lighted a cluster of candles in a leaden candle-branch, and their golden light further revealed the bareness of the place, its sparse and hard-worn furnishings heavy with dust. He drew an armchair to the table where writing-implements and scattered papers made an untidy litter. He waved his guest to a seat, and asked his name. 'Bellarion.' 'I never heard of the family.' 'I never heard of it myself. But that's no matter. It's a name that serves as well as another.' 'Ah!' Barbaresco accepted the name as assumed. He brushed the matter aside by a gesture. 'Your message?' 'I bring no message. I come for one. Her highness is distracted by the lack of news from you, and by the fact that, although she has waited daily for a fortnight, in all that time Messer Giuffredo has not been near her.' Bellarion was still far from surmising who this Messer Giuffredo might be or what. But he knew that mention of the name must confirm him in Barbaresco's eyes, and perhaps lead to a discovery touching the identity of its owner. Because of the interest which the tawny-headed, sombre-eyed princess inspired in him, Bellarion was resolved to go beyond the precise extent of his mission as defined by her. 'Giuffre took fright. A weak-stomached knave. He fancied himself observed when last he came from the palace garden, and nothing would induce him to go again.' So that whatever the intrigue, Bellarion now perceived, it was not amorous. Giuffredo clearly was a messenger and nothing more. Barbaresco himself, with his corpulence and his fifty years, or so, was incredible as a lover. 'Could not another have been sent in his place?' 'A messenger, my friend, is not readily found. Besides, nothing has transpired in the last two weeks of which it was urgently necessary to inform her highness.' 'Surely, it was urgently necessary to inform her highness of just that, so as to allay her natural anxiety?' Leaning back in his chair, his plump hands, which were red like all the rest of him that was visible, grasping the ends of its arms, the gentleman of Casale pondered Bellarion gravely. 'You assume a deal of authority, young sir. Who and what are you to be so deeply in the confidence of her highness?' Bellarion was prepared for the question. 'I am an amanuensis of the palace, whose duties happen to have brought me closely into touch with the Princess.' It was a bold lie, but one which he could support at least and at need by proofs of scholarliness. Barbaresco nodded slowly. 'And your precise interest in her highness?' Bellarion's smile was a little deprecating. 'Now, what should you suppose it?' 'I am not supposing. I am asking.'