“Indeed, indeed,” Galeotto applauded. “A disbelief in omens can but spring from an ignorance of such matters. You should study them, Messer Cosimo. I have done so, and I tell you that the lordship of Mondolfo is unlucky to all dark-complexioned men. And when such a man has a mole under the left ear as you have--in itself a sign of death by hanging--it is well to avoid all risks.” “Now that is very strange!” muttered the Duke, much struck by this whittling down of Cosimo's chances, whilst Cosimo shrugged impatiently and smiled contemptuously. “You seem to be greatly versed in these matters, Ser Galeotto,” added Farnese. “He who would succeed in whatever he may undertake should qualify to read all signs,” said Galeotto sententiously. “I have sought this knowledge.” “Do you see aught in me that you can read?” inquired the Duke in all seriousness. Galeotto considered him a moment without any trace in his eyes of the wicked mockery that filled his soul. “Why,” he answered slowly, “not in your own person, magnificent--leastways, not upon so brief a glance. But since you ask me, I have lately been considering the new coinage of your highness.” “Yes, yes!” exclaimed the Duke, all eagerness, whilst several of his followers came crowding nearer--for all the world is interested in omens. “What do you read there?” “Your fate, I think.” “My fate?” “Have you a coin upon you?” Farnese produced a gold ducat, fire-new from the mint. The condottiero took it and placed his finger upon the four letters P L A C--the abbreviation of “Placentia” in the inscription. “P--L--A--C,” he spelled. “That contains your fate, magnificent, and you may read it for yourself.” And he returned the coin to the Duke, who stared at the letters foolishly and then at this reader of omens. “But what is the meaning of PLAC?” he asked, and he had paled a little with excitement. “I have a feeling that it is a sign. I cannot say more. I can but point it out to you, my lord, and leave the deciphering of it to yourself, who are more skilled than most men in such matters. Have I your excellency's leave to go doff this dusty garb?” he concluded. “Ay, go, sir,” answered the Duke abstractedly, puzzling now with knitted brows over the coin that bore his image. “Come, Falcone,” said Galeotto, and with his equerry at his heels he set his foot on the first step. Cosimo leaned forward, a sneer on his white hawk-face, “I trust, Ser Galeotto, that you are a better condottiero than a charlatan.” “And you, sir,” said Galeotto, smiling his sweetest in return, “are, I trust, a better charlatan than a condottiero.” He went up the stairs, the gaudy throng making way before him, and he came at last to the top, where stood the Lord of Pagliano awaiting him, a great trouble in his eyes. They clasped hands in silence, and Cavalcanti went in person to lead his guest to his apartments.