LITMIR.BIZ

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walls. They were the work of a celebrated artist, and represented nymphs sporting, bathing, weaving garlands and offering sacrifice to Pan; the room had been christened the Chamber of the Nymphs.

      Girolamo looked round with a contented smile.

      'I am glad everything is finished at last,' he said. 'Eight years ago the stones with which the house is built had not been hewn out of the rock, and now every wall is painted, everything is carved and decorated, and I can sit down and say, "It is finished."'

      'It is indeed a work to be proud of,' said Checco.

      'You don't know how I have looked forward to this, Checco. Until now I have always lived in houses which others had built, and decorated, and lived in; but this one has grown up out of my own head; I have watched every detail of its construction, and I feel it mine as I have never felt anything mine before.'

      He paused a minute, looking at the room.

      'Sometimes I think I have lost in its completion, for it gave me many pleasant hours to watch the progress. The hammer of the carpenter, the click of the trowel on the brick were music to my ears. There is always a melancholy in everything that is finished; with a house, the moment of its completion is the commencement of its decay. Who knows how long it will be before these pictures have mouldered off the walls, and the very walls themselves are crumbling to dust?'

      'As long as your family reigns in Forli your palace will preserve its splendour.'

      'Yes, and it seems to me that as the family will preserve the house, so the house will preserve the family. I feel myself firmer and more settled in Forli; this seems like a rock to which my fortunes can cling. But I am full of hope. I am still young and strong. I have a good thirty years of life before me, and what can one not do in thirty years? And then, Checco, my children! What a proud day it will be for me when I can take my son by the hand and say to him, "You are a full-grown man, and you are capable of taking up the sceptre when death takes it from my hand." And it will be a good present I shall leave him. My head is full of plans. Forli shall be rich and strong, and its prince shall not need to fear his neighbours, and the Pope and Florence shall be glad of his friendship.'

      He looked into space, as if he saw the future.

      'But, meanwhile, I am going to enjoy life. I have a wife whom I love, a house to be proud of, two faithful cities. What more can I want?'

      'You are a fortunate man,' said Checco.

      There was a short silence. Checco looked at him steadily. The Count turned away, and Checco put his hand to his dagger. He followed him. As he was approaching, the Count turned again with a jewel that he had just taken from the window sill.

      'I was looking at this stone when you came,' he said. 'Bonifazio has brought it me from Milan, but I am afraid I cannot afford it. It is very tempting.'

      He handed it to Checco to look at.

      'I don't think it is better than the one you have on your neck,' he said, pointing to the jewel which was set in a medallion of gold hanging from a heavy chain.

      'Oh yes,' said Girolamo. 'It is much finer. Look at the two together.'

      Checco approached the stone he held in his hand to the other, and, as he did so, with his other fingers pressed against the Count's chest. He wanted to see whether by any chance he wore a coat of mail; he did not mean to make the same mistake as the Count.... He thought there was nothing; but he wished to make quite sure.

      'I think you are right,' he said, 'but the setting shows off the other, so that at first sight it seems more brilliant. And no wonder, for the chain is a masterpiece.'

      He took it up as if to look at it, and as he did so put his hand on the Count's shoulder. He was certain now.

      'Yes,' said Girolamo, 'that was made for me by the best goldsmith in Rome. It is really a work of art.'

      'Here is your stone,' said Checco, handing it to him, but awkwardly, so that when Girolamo wanted to take it, it fell between their hands. Instinctively he bent down to catch it. In a moment Checco drew his dagger and buried it in the Count's back. He staggered forward and fell in a heap on his face.

      'Oh God!' he cried, 'I am killed.'

      It was the first thing we had heard outside. We heard the cry, the heavy fall. The servant rushed to the curtain.

      'They are killing my master,' he cried.

      'Be quiet, you fool!' I said, seizing his head from behind and with my hands on his mouth dragging him backwards. At the same moment Matteo drew his dagger and pierced the man's heart. He gave a convulsive leap into the air, and then as he fell I pushed him so that he rolled to one side.

      Immediately afterwards the curtain was lifted and Checco appeared, leaning against the door-post. He was as pale as death, and trembling violently. He stood silent for a moment, open-mouthed, so that I thought he was about to faint; then with an effort he said in a hoarse, broken voice,—

      'Gentlemen, we are free!'

      A cry burst from us,—

      'Liberty!'

      Lodovico Pansecchi asked,—

      'Is he dead?'

      A visible shudder passed through Checco, as if he had been struck by an icy wind. He staggered to a chair and groaned,—

      'Oh God!'

      'I will go and see,' said Pansecchi, lifting the curtain and entering.

      We stood still, waiting for him. We heard a heavy sound, and as he appeared, he said,—

      'There is no doubt now.'

      There was blood on his hands. Going up to Checco, he handed him the jewelled dagger.

      'Take this. It will be more use to you than where you left it.'

      Checco turned away in disgust.

      'Here, take mine,' said Matteo. 'I will take yours. It will bring me good luck.'

      The words were hardly out of his mouth when a step was heard outside. Scipione looked out cautiously.

      'Andrea Framonti,' he whispered.

      'Good luck, indeed!' said Matteo.

      It was the captain of the guard. He was in the habit of coming every day about this hour to receive the password from the Count. We had forgotten him. He entered.

      'Good-day to you, gentlemen! Are you waiting to see the Count?'

      He caught sight of the corpse lying against the wall.

      'Good God! what is this? What is—?'

      He looked at us, and stopped suddenly. We had surrounded him.

      'Treason!' he cried. 'Where is the Count?'

      He looked behind him; Scipione and Matteo barred the door.

      'Treason!' he shouted, drawing his sword.

      At the same moment we drew ours and rushed for him. He parried a few of our blows, but we were too many, and he fell pierced with a dozen wounds.

      The sight of the fray had a magical effect on Checco. We saw him standing up, drawn to his full height, his cheeks aflame, his eyes flashing.

      'Good, my friends, good! Luck is on our side,' he said. 'Now we must look alive and work. Give me my dagger, Matteo; it is sacred now. It has been christened in blood with the name of Liberty. Liberty, my friends, Liberty!'

      We flourished our swords and shouted,—

      'Liberty!'

      'Now, you, Filippo, take Lodovico Pansecchi and Marco, and go to the apartment of the Countess; tell her that she and her children are prisoners, and let no one enter or leave. Do this at any cost.... The rest of us will go out and rouse the people. I have twenty servants armed whom I told to wait in the piazza; they will come and guard the Palace and give you any help you need. Come!'

      I did not know

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