"You decline--you dare;" but Machiavelli interposed. "A moment, your eminence. Can we get another agent?" "Not now; it is too late now." "And we have no money for active measures?" "Not a livre." "It seems to me that the cavaliere has us in his hands, and we had better agree. After all he only risks his head twice, instead of once." D'Amboise bit his lip, and with a frown began to drum on the table with his fingers. I sat silent but resolved, and Machiavelli, rising, went to the writing table, pulling out from his vest a parchment. In this he rapidly wrote something, and dusting it over with drying powder held it to the flame of a candle. Then he turned back leisurely, and, as he resumed his seat, handed me the paper. "I have just filled in your name on this blank safe-conduct through the Papal States. I took the precaution of obtaining this from Sforza to-day. When can you start?" "Now, your excellency," and I put the safe-conduct securely by. "I suppose I must agree," said the cardinal suddenly. "If it fails, all is lost; if it succeeds----" "There will probably be a new Conclave, your eminence," said Machiavelli. D'Amboise's forehead flushed dark at the hidden meaning in the Florentine's words. But we all knew that the chair of St. Peter was ever before his eyes; and for this he schemed and saved, although profuse in his habits. George of Amboise never gained his desire; but when he died he left a fortune of eleven millions. This however was yet to be. I had already arisen to take my leave as Machiavelli spoke, and the cardinal, taking no notice of his last remark, turned to me, with something of his old good temper. Perhaps the hint of Florentine support at the next papal election was not without its softening effect. "Did I understand you to say you were ready to start at once, cavaliere?" "Yes, your eminence." "Then let me wish you good fortune--adieu!" "Your eminence has my grateful thanks." I bowed to D'Amboise and the secretary, and withdrew; but as the door swung behind me, I heard Machiavelli's voice. "The air of Rome does not suit me, your eminence. No, thanks. No more Falernian." CHAPTER XIX. EXIT THE ANCIENT BRICO.