"With men enough to give us help were he with us, not to force a passage to us," said De Vitry; "and, by Heaven! it's just as well that he should not be here at present, for how the duke and the rufflers who are with him would take what has happened this morning it is hard to say." "Why, what has happened?" asked Bayard and Lorenzo both together. "We heard of nothing particular when we rode in from Portici." De Vitry smiled. "It is nothing very particular now-a-days," he said, "but, by my faith, such things did not often happen when I was your age, lads. Stephen de Vese, whom we all can remember, the king's valet de chambre, has been made a duke, and has got a nice little slice of the Kingdom of Naples to make up his duchy. I wonder what will come next?" "But the worst of all is, these witty Neapolitans know all this; and though they are very sore at seeing every office, and benefice, and confiscated estate given to Frenchmen, they laugh to see the old nobility mortified by such acts as this. One saucy fellow said that he thought the king must be a necromancer, for he changed his swine into lions." "By my faith," said Bayard, "it does not take much to make a Neapolitan lion. Heaven forbid, however, that any of us should grumble at what the king is pleased to do. But I cannot be so grave, my lord, as you and our friend Lorenzo seem to be. The Duke of Orleans will fight his way through to us, or we to him, depend upon it. Visconti has been as sad, as solemn all day as a crow in a rain-storm." "No, no, De Terrail," said Lorenzo, "I have neither been sad nor solemn, though a little silent, perhaps. The fact is, yesterday was the day when my messenger should have returned from Florence, and I am anxious for his arrival." "Ay, that fellow of yours, Antonio," said De Vitry, laughing, "has lost his way at length, I warrant. I had as near as possible thrown him into the river once for letting me mislead myself;" and he went on to tell the story of the broken bridge, much to the amusement of his two companions. "Hark! there is a horse's feet coming at a gallop," said Bayard. "Nothing new going wrong, I trust!" and approaching the window, he looked out into the street; then, turning round his head, he said with a laugh, "The old story of the devil, my good lords. Antonio, on my life, Lorenzo." Lorenzo turned a little pale with very natural agitation. Since his departure from Florence he had heard nought of Leonora, and if it is terrible even in these days of comparative security and peace, to be without intelligence of those we love--if treacherous imagination brings forth from the treasury of Nemesis all the dangers and misfortunes which surround mortal life, and pile them up on the head of the beloved, how much more dreadful must it have been in those times, when real dangers, perils, and misfortunes without number dogged the steps of every-day life, and were as glaring and apparent as the sun at noon?