"Of whom are you speaking, father?" asked Lorenzo, abruptly. "Whom do you call 'the man' and 'that fiend'?" "Do you not know?" exclaimed the monk. "I mean that demon, enemy of God and man, calling himself Cæsar, Cardinal of Borgia." "He shall answer me for this, if it be in the Vatican!" said Lorenzo, setting his teeth hard. "Come, Antonio, I must follow these men, and may chance to bring those upon them who will take a bloody vengeance." "Stay a moment, my lord," whispered Antonio; "there is more to be got here--there is some news, and it may be good news, lying hid somewhere. If they saw nothing but what the good monk says, how does he know it was Don Cæsar? Let me deal with him. Good Father Sylvester," he continued aloud---- "That is not my name, my son," said the monk upon the rock. "I am called Fra Nicolo, though sometimes men call me Fra Discreto." "Well, good Father Nicolo, then," said Antonio, "my young lord here, Signor Lorenzo Visconti, Knight, proposes to pursue yonder company of wicked men and bring upon them the whole power of the King of France, whose cousin he is." "He will do a good deed," said the old monk, drily. "But, good father, he cannot do so," said Antonio, "without food for his horses and men, and drink also. Now I will crave Fra Tomaso here to go into the prior, and tell him of our case. Ask him to speak with my young lord in person, for he has a dozen or two of men below, and as many horses, but he did not choose to approach your peaceful gates with such a force." "Brother Thomas can do as he pleases," said the old monk, "but I don't think the prior can feed so many, especially the horses; so there is not much use of his going." Fra Tomaso, however, thought differently, for he immediately turned to go into the convent; and Antonio, who had dismounted a moment or two before, went with him as far as the inner gate, whispering eagerly in his ear all the time. Lorenzo did not perceive that the friar answered anything, but Antonio's face was much more cheerful when he returned than it had been after witnessing the ruin of the Villa Morelli. The old monk who remained did not appear to have any great benevolence in his nature, or it was not excited by Lorenzo and his servant. "It is useless," he said--"all useless. There is the prior's mule: that is all we have." "Oh, we and our horses are soon satisfied," said Antonio, in his usual tone. "We only want a little hay and water for ourselves and a little white bread and wine for our horses." "I think you are mocking me, my son," said the monk, with a very cloudy brow. "I do not bear mocking well." "And yet your Heavenly Master was both mocked and scourged," said Antonio, "and he uttered not a word."