“If you can't--no matter. But endeavour not to offer him any hurt! Leave that to me--anon when all is ripe for it. To-day it would be premature, and... and we... we should be... crushed by the...” His speech trailed off into incoherent mutterings; his eyelids dropped, and he was fast asleep again. Ten minutes later we were riding north again, and all that night we rode, along the endless Aemilian Way, pausing for no more than a draught of wine from time to time, and munching a loaf as we rode. We crossed the Po, and kept steadily on, taking fresh horses when we could, until towards sunset a turn in the road brought Pagliano into our view--grey and lichened on the crest of its smooth emerald hill. The dusk was falling and lights began to gleam from some of the castle windows when we brought up in the shadow of the gateway. A man-at-arms lounged out of the guardhouse to inquire our business. “Is Madonna Bianca wed yet?” was the breathless greeting I gave him. He peered at me, and then at Falcone, and he swore in some surprise. “Well, returned my lord! Madonna Bianca? The nuptials were celebrated to-day. The bride has gone.” “Gone?” I roared. “Gone whither, man?” “Why, to Piacenza--to my Lord Cosimo's palace there. They set out some three hours since.” “Where is your lord?” I asked him, flinging myself from the saddle. “Within doors, most noble.” How I found him, or by what ways I went to do so, are things that are effaced completely from my memory. But I know that I came upon him in the library. He was sitting hunched in a great chair, his face ashen, his eyes fevered. At sight of me--the cause, however innocent, of all this evil--his brows grew dark, and his eyes angry. If he had reproaches for me, I gave him no time to utter them, but hurled him mine. “What have you done, sir?” I demanded. “By what right did you do this thing? By what right did you make a sacrifice of that sweet dove? Did you conceive me so vile as to think that I should ever owe you gratitude--that I should ever do aught but abhor the deed, abhor all who had a hand in it, abhor the very life itself purchased for me at such a cost?” He cowered before my furious wrath; for I must have seemed terrific as I stood thundering there, my face wild, my eyes bloodshot, half mad from pain and rage and sleeplessness. “And do you know what you have done?” I went on. “Do you know to what you have sold her? Must I tell you?” And I told him, in a dozen brutal words that brought him to his feet, the lion in him roused at last, his eyes ablaze. “We must after them,” I urged. “We must wrest her from these beasts, and make a widow of her for the purpose. Galeotto's lances are below and they will follow me. You may bring what more you please. Come, sir--to horse!” He sprang forward with no answer beyond a muttered prayer that we might come in time.