"At the Cavaliere di Savelli's service," and a tall figure rose from a lounge chair and surveyed me. I confess that my heart began to beat a little fast when I saw the man against whom I was to pit myself. He was far above the middle height, and proportionately broad. His grizzled hair, parted in the middle, hung down straightly to his neck, and a thick grey beard and moustache hid his mouth and chin. A cruel hooked nose, almost Hebraic in shape, was set between a pair of small and piercing eyes. His complexion was deathly pale, and by the light which fell from the barred window, I saw beneath the skin the little red lines of swollen veins which marked an intemperate life. At a small table beside the chair was a pack of cards, and a glass half filled with red wine, the bottle from which the wine was taken was lying in fragments at the door, where it had fallen and broken to bits, after being flung at Pluto. The bear was now beside his master, facing me, his huge head held down and swaying from side to side. We remained for a half minute staring at each other, and then Baglioni spoke again, with his deep sneering accent, "Is it usual for the Cavaliere di Savelli to pay visits with a drawn sword in his hand?" "Is it usual," I replied, "for gentlemen to be received by having a savage beast set at them?" "Oh, Pluto!" and he touched the bear, "Pluto was not set at you, man--you would not be here if he was." "Probably--if however you will call the beast to one side, I would like to discuss my business with you, cavaliere." "Shut the door, and sit down there," he replied, "Pluto will not disturb us--you can put back your sword. It would avail you little," he grinned. It cost me an effort, but I did as I was bidden, and Baglioni sank back into his lounge, the bear still standing, and keeping its fierce eyes on me. Its master however kept running his hand up and down its shaggy coat, whilst he asked in his measured voice-- "Well, and to what do I owe the honour of this visit?" "You would prefer no beating about the bush?" "It is my way." "Well, then, cavaliere, I have come from Rome with a special object, and that is to ask you to change sides, and to use your influence with your cousin, Count Carlo, to do likewise." "I follow the head of my house." "Exactly. You are aware that His Holiness is now over seventy years of age." "The lambkin of God, Alexander--yes." "Well, he cannot go on for ever, and if he were to die, it is an end to the Borgia." "Ho! ho!" he laughed, "it is an end to the Borgia--Cavaliere, your employers are mad. It will take not a little to break Cesare--Cesare Borgia, Duke of Romagna, Imola and Faenza, Marquis of Rimini, Count of Forli, Lord of Pesaro and Fano, Gonfaloniere of the Church--good for a low-born bastard--eh? Ho! ho! break Cesare! Not you."