But of
the seventh--yourself--you heard old Lodi swear that the secret could not
have transpired. Yet should his Highness come to hear of your presence
in these parts and in my company, suspicion might set him on the road
that leads to knowledge."
"Ah! And then?"
"Then?" returned the other, eyeing Francesco in surprise. "Why, then,
the hopes we found on you--the hopes of every man in Babbiano worthy of
the name--would be frustrated. But here comes our friend the fool, and,
in his wake, the friar."
Fra Domenico--so was he very fitly named, this follower of St. Dominic--
approached with a solemnity that proceeded rather from his great girth
than from any inflated sense of the dignity of his calling. He bowed
before Fanfulla until his great crimson face was hidden, and he displayed
instead a yellow, shaven crown. It was as if the sun had set, and the
moon had risen in its place.
"Are you skilled in medicine?" quoth Fanfulla shortly.
"I have some knowledge, Illustrious."
"Then see to this gentleman's wounds."
"Eh? Dio mio! You are wounded, then?" he began, turning to the Count,
and he would have added other questions as pregnant, but that Aquila,
drawing aside his hacketon at the shoulder, answered him quickly:
"Here, sir priest."
His lips pursed in solicitude, the friar would have gone upon his knees,
but that Francesco, seeing with what labour the movement must be fraught,
rose up at once.
"It is not so bad that I cannot stand," said he, submitting himself to
the monk's examination.
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