I took an almost childish satisfaction in the thought that since, being a prisoner, I could no longer count myself the Fool of the Court of Cesena, I was free to strip the motley and assume the more sober garments in which I had been taken, and which—­as you may recall—­had been placed in my chamber on the previous evening.  It was the very plainest raiment.  For doublet I wore a buff brigandine, quilted and dagger-proof, and caught at the waist by a girdle of hammered steel; my wine-coloured hose was stout and serviceable, as were my long boots of untanned leather.  Yet prouder was I of this sober apparel than ever king of his ermine.

It may have been an hour or so past noon when, at last, my solitude was invaded by a soldier who came to order me into the presence of the Governor.  I had been sitting at the window, leaning against the bars and looking out at the desolate white landscape, for there had been a heavy fall of snow in the night, which reminded me—­as snow ever did—­of my first meeting with Madonna Paola.

I rose upon the instant, and my fears rose with me.  But I kept a bold front as I went down into the hall, where Ramiro and the blackguards of his Court were sitting, with three or four men-at-arms at attention by the door.  Close to the pulleys appertaining to the torture of the cord stood two leather-clad ruffians—­Ramiro’s executioners.

At the head of the board, which was still strewn with fragments of food-for they had but dined—­sat Ramiro del’ Orca.  With him were half a dozen of his officers, whose villainous appearance pronounced them worthy of their brutal leader.  The air was heavy with the pungent odour of viands.  I looked round for Mariani, and I took some comfort from the fact that he was absent.  Might heaven please that he was even then on his way to Faenza.

Ramiro watched my advance with a smile in which mockery was blent with satisfaction, for all that of the resumption of my proper raiment he seemed to take no heed.  No doubt he had dined well, and he was now disposing himself to be amused.

“Messer Bocadaro,” said he, when I had come to a standstill, “there was last night a matter that was not cleared up between us and concerning which I expressed an intention of questioning you to-day.  I should proceed to do so at once, were it not that there is yet another matter on which I am, if possible, still more desirous you should tell us all you know.  Once already have you evaded my questions with answers which at the time I half believed.  Even now I do not say that I utterly disbelieve them, but I wish to assure myself that you told the truth; for if you lied, why then we may still be assisted by such information the cord shall squeeze from you.  I am referring to the mysterious disappearance of Madonna Paola di Santafior—­a disappearance of which you have assured me that you knew nothing, being even in ignorance of the fact that the lady was not really dead.  I had confidently expected that the party searching for Madonna Paola would have succeeded ere this in finding her.  But this morning my hopes suffered disappointment.  My men have returned empty-handed once more.”