“You have not a happy air,” said Galeotto as they went. “And, Body of God! it is no matter for marvel considering the company you keep. How long has the Farnese beast been here?” “His visit is now in its third week,” said Cavalcanti, answering mechanically. Galeotto swore in sheer surprise. “By the Host! And what keeps him?” Cavalcanti shrugged and let his arms fall to his sides. To Galeotto this proud, stern baron seemed most oddly dispirited. “I see that we must talk,” he said. “Things are speeding well and swiftly now,” he added, dropping his voice. “But more of that presently. I have much to tell you.” When they had reached the chamber that was Galeotto's, and the doors were closed and Falcone was unbuckling his master's spurs--“Now for my news,” said the condottiero. “But first, to spare me repetitions, let us have Agostino here. Where is he?” The look on Cavalcanti's face caused Galeotto to throw up his head like a spirited animal that scents danger. “Where is he?” he repeated, and old Falcone's fingers fell idle upon the buckle on which they were engaged. Cavalcanti's answer was a groan. He flung his long arms to the ceiling, as if invoking Heaven's aid; then he let them fall again heavily, all strength gone out of them. Galeotto stood an instant looking at him and turning very white. Suddenly he stepped forward, leaving Falcone upon his knees. “What is this?” he said, his voice a rumble of thunder. “Where is the boy? I say.” The Lord of Pagliano could not meet the gaze of those steel coloured eyes. “O God!” he groaned. “How shall I tell you?” “Is he dead?” asked Galeotto, his voice hard. “No, no--not dead. But... But...” The plight of one usually so strong, so full of mastery and arrogance, was pitiful. “But what?” demanded the condottiero. “Gesu! Am I a woman, or a man without sorrows, that you need to stand hesitating? Whatever it may be, speak, then, and tell me.” “He is in the clutches of the Holy Office,” answered Cavalcanti miserably. Galeotto looked at him, his pallor increasing. Then he sat down suddenly, and, elbows on knees, he took his head in his hands and spoke no word for a spell, during which time Falcone, still kneeling, looked from one to the other in an agony of apprehension and impatience to hear more. Neither noticed the presence of the equerry; nor would it have mattered if they had, for he was trusty as steel, and they had no secrets from him. At last, having gained some measure of self-control, Galeotto begged to know what had happened, and Cavalcanti related the event. “What could I do? What could I do?” he cried when he had finished. “You let them take him?” said Galeotto, like a man who repeats the thing he has been told, because he cannot credit it. “You let them take him?” “What alternative had I?” groaned Cavalcanti, his face ashen and seared with pain. “There is that between us, Ettore, that... that will not let me credit this, even though you tell it me.”