Thus raced my first thoughts, but after these came others more bitter. Why had I been singled out for this treatment, even by an unmoral being like Forli? The answer came quickly enough; because in removing me, there was removed one of the chiefest guardians of Luther. My kidnapping was the prelude to a fouler plot to break the safe-conduct and to work some mortal harm upon the great foe of the Vatican. So after the moments of wrath came the moments of rage, when with none to witness me I cursed, swore oaths fit, I fear, for a lanz-knecht, bade God smite me dead, mew me up in prison forever, tear me limb from limb on the rack, if only my master might be saved, and the Cause move on to its eternal triumph. At length the passion died. Heavy-hearted, weary in mind and body, sorely perplexed, I sat down again on the bed. I realized now that I was hungry, nor was I sorry when one of the scurvy jailors opened to pass me in a small loaf and a wooden platter of ill-cooked peas and lentils. I ate them greedily, and was again sitting idly, musing on the sore perplexity my disappearance would cause to Dr. Luther, when again the bolts rattled. I saw the jailors scraping in abject servility before a personage in a bright red cloak. It was the Cardinale di Forli.... His smile was as gracious as of old, when we met casually on the Corso. His features had possibly coarsened a trifle in the past few years, and he had grown more portly, otherwise I could not detect the slightest change. There was a tinge of delicate perfume about him. His rings and the linen at his neck and wrists were exquisite. I rose and bowed with some stiffness, both mental and physical. At sight of my tattered clothes he raised his hands deprecatingly. “Alas! my poor Gualtiero. What disarray you have caused yourself by your ill-timed resistance. I charged my worthy servitors to conduct you here as gently as possible.” “Then I owe to you, Eminenza, the vast courtesy of this encounter, this ride and these present hardly sumptuous quarters.” “It will be your own fault, my dear fellow,” he rejoined “if you do not speedily exchange them for better. As for your clothes, that matter shall be remedied immediately.” “I have more serious affairs upon my mind than the state of my doublet,” I returned coldly. “I am delighted,” he observed, ignoring my remark, “that you retain your use of the Italian tongue so perfectly. I feared your accent had been ruined by these years of hearing only barbarous German gutturals.” “Why your particular satisfaction, Eminenza?” “Because you are so shortly to return to Italy as a country of permanent sojourn; in short, to resume your rightful estate, character, and life as the Conte di Palaestro.” “Whether Palaestro or Regenstein is to be my name,” I cast back, paling possibly at the implied threat, “I trust Monsignore il Cardinale will be gracious enough to let me choose for myself.”