“Ah, yes,” he snarled, wheeling suddenly upon me as if he would strike me. “I had forgot the champion, the preux-chevalier, the saint in embryo! You will not remain to hear the truth, sir, eh?” And he strode, mouthing, to the door, and flung it wide so that it crashed against the wall. “This is your remedy. Get you hence! Go! What passes here concerns you not. Go!” he roared like a mad beast, his rage a thing terrific. I looked at him and from him to Giuliana, and my eyes most clearly invited her to tell me how she would have me act. “Indeed, you had best go, Agostino,” she answered sadly. “I shall bear his insults easier if there be no witness. Yes, go.” “Since it is your wish, Madonna,” I bowed to her, and very erect, very defiant of mien, I went slowly past the livid Fifanti, and so out. I heard the door slammed after me, and in the little hall I came upon Busio, who was wringing his hand and looking very white. He ran to me. “He will murder her, Messer Agostino,” moaned the old man. “He can be a devil in his anger.” “He is a devil always, in anger and out of it,” said I. “He needs an exorcist. It is a task that I should relish. I'd beat the devils out of him, Busio, and she would let me. Meanwhile, stay we here, and if she needs our help, it shall be hers.” I dropped on to the carved settle that stood there, old Busio standing at my elbow, more tranquil now that there was help at hand for Madonna in case of need. And through the door came the sound of his storming, and presently the crash of more broken glassware, as once more he thumped the table. For well-high half an hour his fury lasted, and it was seldom that her voice was interposed. Once we heard her laugh, cold and cutting as a sword's edge, and I shivered at the sound, for it was not good to hear. At last the door was opened and he came forth. His face was inflamed, his eyes wild and blood-injected. He paused for a moment on the threshold, but I do not think that he noticed us at first. He looked back at her over his shoulder, still sitting at table, the outline of her white-gowned body sharply defined against the deep blue tapestry of the wall behind her. “You are warned,” said he. “Do you heed the warning!” And he came forward. Perceiving me at last where I sat, he bared his broken teeth in a snarling smile. But it was to Busio that he spoke. “Have my mule saddled for me in an hour,” he said, and passed on and up the stairs to make his preparations. It seemed, therefore, that she had conquered his suspicions. I went in to offer her comfort, for she was weeping and all shaken by that cruel encounter. But she waved me away. “Not now, Agostino. Not now,” she implored me. “Leave me to myself, my friend.” I had not been her friend had I not obeyed her without question. CHAPTER V. PABULUM ACHERONTIS