“Not Tetzel, but Luther. Oh! You are only an Italian, you will never understand.” “I agree with you. Pestilenza! we will have to take you in hand roundly. I fear much, it will be some time before you can be allowed to go again without restraint. We cannot let you wreck your fine career. No, _per Dei Immortales_, your friends will save you, despite yourself. Since you are turned wholly unreasonable, you must remain here till the order comes from Rome.” “From Rome--” “Naturally I sent a courier thither as soon as Marianna explained to me your state. Your moody and nervous condition has been observed by your guests some time. They quite understand that you are unwell. I have written to the Holy Father for authority to keep you in easy custody until we are satisfied this dementia is entirely passed. The Pope will naturally designate your place of confinement, and the time of your release will be largely of your own determination.” I sat before him, amazed and dumb. The Cardinal held out his hands insinuatingly. “Come, Gualtiero. You see the trouble you have plunged us in. Give me your word you will not return to Germany, and I will send a second courier to undo the errand of the first.” “No!” I said it stolidly and obstinately. Another shrug and Forli was gone, throwing over his shoulder a promise to come and argue again the next morning. After a few moments Eugenio entered with a tray and a simple luncheon, whereof I partook, reflecting that if my captors wished to murder me they would find a thousand ways to accomplish it even if I grew lean with starvation. I soon discovered the method of my confinement. I was in one of the small extra rooms upon the northern wing of the palazzo, set off for the retainers of some distinguished guest. Three of the Cardinal’s stoutest serving-men were keeping watch outside the door. It was only twenty feet from the window to the ground, which sloped away into luxuriant vineyards; but a stout iron bar closed the narrow aperture, and I was without the least weapon or tool to force it. My behavior for recent days, and especially during the hours following the receipt of Luther’s letter, gave every color to the report among my guests that I was deranged, even to the need of restraint. Although the palazzo and its servants were nominally my own, I could count on almost no personal love and loyalty at Palaestro. The mansion had been practically deserted save for a few caretakers, until on my arrival a horde of mercenary attendants had been recruited from Florence. With bitterness I contrasted the attitude of my Regensteiners, who would have plucked down their schloss, rock from rock, rather than let their liege lord be imprisoned within it.