"The devil!" said Duke Borso.

"Madonna," was his second venture, when he had recognised the impropriety of his first, "Madonna, I am this moment about to retire--"

Angioletto, whose eyes had attained their fullest stretch of wonder, opened his mouth--but not to speak. He gaped at the lord of the land.

"Madonna--" Borso began once more. Then the other found his voice--

"Alas, my lord Duke, it is Madonna I thought to find. Where is my wife?"

That was Borso's cue to stare.

"Your wife?" he cried, "your wife! Heaven above us, man, why the devil should your wife be in my bed?"

Angioletto, with the deepest respect always, suffered a smile to play askew about his lips.

"Alas, Magnificence," he said, "if I dared I would ask him, why the devil he should be in my wife's bed?"

It was the youth's way to preface his audacities by the a.s.surance that he dared not utter them. But the retort pleased Borso. His eyes began to twinkle.

"Look ye, young gentleman," said he, suppressing his wish to chuckle, "if this is your wife's bed, I am sorry for you, for I give you my word she has not been in it to-night. But I confess I should like to know why your wife has a bed in my house."

Angioletto nodded gravely.

"I should be the last person to deny your Grace's right to all information. Bellaroba is my dear wife's name, her country is Venice, her duties are to be about Madama Lionella's person. My own duties are to be about hers, so far as I may."

"Fair and softly, my friend," said the Duke, "not so fast, if you please. Do you know that Maids of Honour may not marry without permission, and, in any case, may not be visited by their husbands during their service?"

"Magnificence, she was not married without permission. Or rather, she was married before permission was needed."

"Eh, how may that be now?" said Borso, tucking in his chin. "Did she come here as Signora Qualcosa?"

"She came here as Bellaroba, Magnificence. No one knows of our marriage but your Grace and the Holy Virgin."

"Then you are not married, but should be. That is your meaning--eh?"

"Ah, by Heaven, Magnificence," cried Angioletto, "we are the most married couple in the world!"

"H'm," was all Borso had to say to that. "And who made her of Madama's Court?"

"It was your Grace."

"Oh, of course, of course, man! But why the deuce did I do it?"

"It was at the request of Count Guarino Guarini, Magnificence?"

"Eh, eh! now I recollect. Ah, to be sure! That must be a very agreeable reflection for you at this moment, my friend," he said, with a sly look.

Angioletto took the equivoque with dignity, "I have perfect confidence in my wife, my lord Duke."

Borso shrugged. "Well, it is your affair--not mine," he said. Then he changed his tone. "I think, however, we will come back to what is my affair as well as yours. Be so good as to tell me how you came here."

"I came down the chimney," said Angioletto calmly. "I am by calling a chimney-sweep."

"Upon my word," Borso said, "this is a fine story I am piecing together!

How long have you been of that trade, pray?"

Angioletto received this shot with firmness, even dignity. "I was formerly a poet attached to the Court, Magnificence. But when Madama turned me away it became necessary that I should see my young wife; so I became a chimney-sweep for the purpose."

The Duke's mouth twitched too much for his own dignity. He pulled the bedclothes up to his nose, therefore, before he asked--

"Why did Madama turn you away, sir?"

Angioletto, for the first time, was confused. He hung his head.

"I hope your Grace will not insist upon an answer," he replied in a troubled voice.

Borso looked keenly at him for a time. "No, I think I will not," said he. "Are you the lad who sang me the _Caccia col falcone_?"

"The same, my lord Duke."

"I thought so. Now, sir, to come back to this performance of yours, which I suppose is not the first by any means--eh?"

"It appears to be the last, my lord," said Angioletto ruefully.

"I think it is the last," replied the Duke; "for I hope you understand that I can have you clapped into gaol for it."

"Pardon, Magnificence--he can do more. He can have me hanged for it."

"I don't agree with you," said Borso. "If my name were Ferdinand of Arragon, or Sforza, or della Rovere, yes; but being Borso d'Este, no."

"Your Grace puts me to shame," said Angioletto, with feeling. "I am to take it then--"

"You shall take it as you please, my friend," Borso rejoined, with his chin once more upon his clasped knees. "For my part I propose to take _you_ and keep you under lock and key for a season--as at present advised."

Angioletto bowed, as well as one may who is sitting up in a very soft bed. His voice was quite meek.

"I shall in all duty obey your Grace's directions, and will leave behind me but one small request, which I am persuaded Borso d'Este will not refuse his prisoner."

"And what is that, my good friend?"

"It is the care for the person and honour of my wife, my lord Duke,"

answered Angioletto.

This set Borso rubbing his nose. He thought before he spoke again.

"As for your wife's person, my man," said he, "it will be as safe in my dominions as all persons, whatever their ages or conditions. Her honour is another affair. That is neither for me nor my laws, but for herself.

And perhaps you will let me add that if to-night is a sample of her course of living, you are putting upon me a rather onerous charge."

"My Lord, my Lord," cried Angioletto here, "I will answer for my wife's honour with my last drop of blood. It is her person I cannot answer for if I am in prison."