And now I was able to travel at a brisker pace, and in an hour or so I had passed the point where the road diverged, and I caught a glimpse of the four grooms, already high up in the hills which they were crossing.  Whether they saw me or not I do not know, but with a last curse at their cowardice I put them from my mind, and cantered briskly on towards Cagli.  It was a short league farther, and in little more than half an hour, my mule half-dead, I halted at the door of “The Full Moon.”

Flinging my reins to the ostler, I strode into the inn, swaddled in my cloak, and called for the hostess.  The place was empty, as indeed all Cagli had seemed when I rode up.  She came forward—­a woman with a brown, full face, and large kindly eyes—­and I asked her whether a lady had arrived there in safety that morning.  At first she seemed mistrustful, but when I had assured her that I was in that lady’s service, she frankly owned that Madonna was safe in her own room.  Thither I allowed her to lead me, at once eager and reluctant.  Eager with my own eyes to assure myself of her perfect safety; reluctant that, since a man may not penetrate to a lady’s chamber hat on head, by uncovering I must disclose my shameful trade.  Yet there was nothing for it but a bold face, and as I mounted the stairs in the woman’s wake, I told myself that I was doubly a fool to be tormented by qualms of such a nature.

Hat in hand I followed the hostess into Madonna’s room.  The lady rose from the window-seat to greet me, her face pale and her gentle eyes wearing an anxious look.  At sight of my head crowned with the crested, horned hood of folly, a frown of bewilderment drew her brows together, and she looked more closely to see whether I was indeed the man who had befriended her that morning in her extremity.  In the eyes of the hostess I caught a gleam of recognition.  She knew me for the merry loon who had entertained her guests one night a fortnight since, when on my way from Pesaro to Rome.  But before she could give expression to this discovery of hers, the lady spoke.

“Leave us awhile, my woman,” she commanded.  But I stayed the hostess as she was withdrawing.

“This lady,” said I, “will need an escort of three or four stout knaves upon a journey that she is going.  She will be setting out as soon as may be.”

“But what of my grooms?” cried the lady.

“Madonna,” I informed her, “they have deserted you.  That is the reason of my presence here.  You shall hear the story of it presently.  Meanwhile, we must arrange to replace them.”  And I turned again to the hostess.

She was standing in thought, a doubtful expression on her face.  But as I looked at her she shook her head.

“There is no such escort to be found to-day in Cagli,” she made answer.  “The town is all but empty, and every lusty man is either gone on the pilgrimage to the Holy House of Loretto, or else is at Pesaro for the Feast of the Epiphany.”