'Nay, now! That I know for a lie. I might have got me a son without knowing it. That is always possible. I was young once, faith, and a little careless of my kisses. But I could scarcely have adopted another man's child without being aware of it.' And now Bellarion, judging his man, staked all upon the indolent good-nature, the humorous outlook upon life which he thought to perceive in Facino's face and voice. He answered him with a studied excess of frankness. 'The adoption, my lord, was mine; not yours.' And then, to temper the impudence of that, he added: 'I adopted you, my lord, in my hour of peril and of need, as we adopt a patron saint. My wits were at the end of their resources. I knew not how else to avert the torture and death to which wanton brutality exposed me, save by invoking a name in itself sufficiently powerful to protect me.' There was a pause in which Facino considered him, half angrily, so that Bellarion's heart sank and he came to fear that in his bold throw with Fortune he had been defeated. Then Facino laughed outright, yet there was an edge to his laugh that was not quite friendly. 'And so you adopted me for your father. Why, sir, if every man could choose his parents ...' He broke off. 'Who are you, rogue? What is your name?' 'I am called Bellarion, my lord.' 'Bellarion? A queer name that. And what's your story? Continue to be frank with me, unless you would have me toss you back to the Duke for an impostor.' At that Bellarion took heart, for the phrase implied that if he were frank this great soldier would befriend him at least to the extent of furthering his escape. And so Bellarion used an utter frankness. He told his tale, which was in all respects the true tale which he had told Lorenzaccio da Trino. It was, when all is said, an engaging story, and it caught the fancy of the Lord Facino Cane, as Bellarion, closely watching him, perceived. 'And in your need you chose to think that this rider who befriended you was called Facino!' The condottiero smiled now, a little sardonically. 'It was certainly resourceful. But this business of the Duke's dogs? Tell me what happened there.' Bellarion's tale had gone no farther than the point at which he had set out from Cigliano on his journey to Pavia. Nor now, in answer to this question, did he mention his adventure in Montferrat and the use he had made there already of Facino's name, but came straight to the events of that day in the meadows by Abbiategrasso. To this part of his narrative, and particularly to that of Bellarion's immunity from the fierce dogs, Facino listened in incredulity, although it agreed with the tale he had already heard. 'What patron did you adopt to protect you there?' he asked, between seriousness and derision. 'Or did you use magic, as they say.' 'I answered the Duke on that score with more literal truth than he suspected when I told him that dog does not eat dog.' 'How? You pretend that the mere name of Cane ...?'