"Who is he?" demanded Ramiro again. "Neither know I that," said the youth; "he attacked me unprovoked as I walked here upon the terrace in the moonlight; but I never saw his face before, that I know of." "Walked and sang," answered Ramiro, drily. "Perhaps he did not like your music, Signor Visconti." "Probably," replied the youth, quite calmly. "It was but poor, and yet not worth killing a man for. Besides, as it was not intended for him, but for a lady, it could give him no offence." "Not quite clear logic that, good youth," answered Ramiro. "Do any of you know this man?" he continued, turning to the servants. "Not I;" "not I," answered several; but the old Count of Rovera bent down his head toward the man's face, waving the rest away that the moonlight might fall upon him. "Why, this is Pietro Buondoni, of Ferrara;" he exclaimed; "an attendant on Count Ludovico, and a great favorite. What could induce him to attack you, Lorenzo?" "I know not, sir," replied Lorenzo; "I never set eyes on him before. He called me a French hound, and, ere I could answer him, he had nearly run me through the body. I had hardly time to draw." "Well, bear him in--bear him in," said the old lord; "though I judge from his look he will not attack any one again. Did I not see Leonora here?" But by this time she was gone, and Lorenzo took care not to answer. As he followed the rest into the villa, however, he stooped to pick up something from the ground. What if it were a lady's glove! CHAPTER VII.