“A plague on the boy!” said he, biting his lips; “if the Cardinal thrive as well as his servant, by’re Lady, Monsignore is a happy man!”

By no means pleased with the prospect of an interview with Albornoz, who, like most able men, valued the talents of those he employed exactly in proportion to their success, the Spaniard slowly returned home.  With the licence accorded to him, he entered the Cardinal’s chamber somewhat abruptly, and perceived him in earnest conversation with a Cavalier, whose long moustache, curled upward, and the bright cuirass worn underneath his mantle, seemed to betoken him of martial profession.  Pleased with the respite, Alvarez hastily withdrew:  and, in fact, the Cardinal’s thoughts at that moment, and for that night, were bent upon other subjects than those of love.

The interruption served, however, to shorten the conversation between Albornoz and his guest.  The latter rose.

“I think,” said he, buckling on a short and broad rapier, which he laid aside during the interview,—­“I think, my Lord Cardinal, you encourage me to consider that our negotiation stands a fair chance of a prosperous close.  Ten thousand florins, and my brother quits Viterbo, and launches the thunderbolt of the Company on the lands of Rimini.  On your part—­”

“On my part it is agreed,” said the Cardinal, “that the army of the Church interferes not with the course of your brother’s arms—­there is peace between us.  One warrior understands another!”

“And the word of Giles d’Albornoz, son of the royal race of Arragon, is a guarantee for the faith of a Cardinal,” replied the Cavalier, with a smile.  “It is, my Lord, in your former quality that we treat.”

“There is my right hand,” answered Albornoz, too politic to heed the insinuation.  The Cavalier raised it respectfully to his lips, and his armed tread was soon heard descending the stairs.

“Victory,” cried Albornoz, tossing his arms aloof; “Victory, now thou art mine!”

With that he rose hastily, deposited his papers in an iron chest, and opening a concealed door behind the arras, entered a chamber that rather resembled a monk’s cell than the apartment of a prince.  Over a mean pallet hung a sword, a dagger, and a rude image of the Virgin.  Without summoning Alvarez, the Cardinal unrobed, and in a few moments was asleep.

Chapter 7.VII.  Vaucluse and its Genius Loci.—­Old Acquaintance Renewed.

The next day at early noon the Cavalier, whom our last chapter presented to the reader, was seen mounted on a strong Norman horse, winding his way slowly along a green and pleasant path some miles from Avignon.  At length he found himself in a wild and romantic valley, through which wandered that delightful river whose name the verse of Petrarch has given to so beloved a fame.  Sheltered by rocks, and in this part winding through the greenest banks, enamelled with a thousand