Pesaro, or who knew of the cowardliness I had been guilty of when I consented to mask myself in the motley and assume the name of Boccadoro.  I counted on the Lord Giovanni’s generosity to let things continue thus, and, meanwhile, I provided for my mother out of the vails that were earned me by my shame.  But there came a day when Giovanni in evil wantonness of spirit chose to make merry at the Fool’s expense.

“To be held up to scorn and ridicule is a part of the trade of such as I, and had it been just Boccadoro whom Giovanni had exposed to the derision of his Court, haply I had been his jester still.  But such sport as that would have satisfied but ill the deep-seated malice of his soul.  The man whom his cruel mockery crucified for their entertainment was Lazzaro Biancomonte, whom he revealed to them, relating in his own fashion the tale I have told you.

“At that I rebelled, and I said such things to him in that hour, before all his Court, as a man may not say to a prince and live.  Passion surged up in him, and he ordered his castellan to flog me to the bone—­in short, to slay me with a whip.

“From that punishment I was saved by the intercessions of Madonna Lucrezia.  But I was driven out of Pesaro that very night, and so it happens that I am a wanderer now.”

At that I left it.  I had no mind to tell her what motives had impelled Lucrezia Borgia to rescue me, nor on what errand I had gone to Rome and was from Rome returning.

She had heard me in silence, and now that I had done, she heaved a sigh, for which gentle expression of pity out of my heart I thanked her.  We were silent, thereafter, for a little while.  At length she turned her head to regard me in the light of the now declining moon.

“Messer Biancomonte,” said she, and the sound of the old name, falling from her lips, thrilled me with a joy unspeakable, and seemed already to reinvest me in my old estate, “Messer Biancomonte, you have done me in these four-and-twenty hours such service as never did knight of old for any lady—­and you did it, too, out of the most disinterested and noble of motives, proving thereby how truly knightly is that heart of yours, which, for my sake, has all but beat its last to-night.  You must journey on to Pesaro with me despite this banishment of which you have told me.  I will be surety that no harm shall come to you.  I could not do less, and I shall hope to do far more.  Such influence as I may prove to have with my cousin of Pesaro shall be exerted all on your behalf, my friend; and if in the nature of Giovanni Sforza there be a tithe of the gratitude with which you have inspired me, you shall, at least, have justice, and Biancomonte shall be yours again.”

I was silent for a spell, so touched was I by the kindness she manifested me—­so touched, indeed, and so unused to it that I forgot how amply I had earned it, and how rudely she had used me ere that was done.