You have dragged me here before you by force, and,
sitting there on the throne of Babbiano, you say: 'Prove that you have
not conspired against me if you would save your head.'" A second he
paused, and noted the puzzled look with which all regarded him.
"Is this a parable?" sneered the uncomprehending Duke.
"You have said it," flashed back Francesco. "A parable it is. And if
you consider it, does it not afford you proof enough?" he asked, a note
of triumph in his voice. "Do not our relative positions irrefutably show
the baselessness of this your charge? Should I stand here and you sit
there if what you allege against me were true?" He laughed almost
savagely, and his eyes flashed scornfully upon the Duke. "If more
plainly still you need it, Gian Maria, I tell you that had I plotted to
occupy your tottering throne, I should be on it now, not standing here
defending myself against a foolish charge. But can you doubt it? Did
you learn no lesson as you rode into Babbiano to-day? Did you not hear
them acclaim me and groan at you. And yet," he ended, with a lofty pity,
"you tell me that I plotted. Why, if I desired your throne, my only need
would be to unfurl my banner in the streets of your capital, and within
the hour Gian Maria would be Duke no more. Have I proved my innocence,
Highness?" he ended quietly, sadly almost. "Are you convinced how little
is my need for plots?"
But the Duke had no answer for him. Speechless, and in a sort of dazed
horror, he sat and scowled before him at his cousin's handsome face, what
time the others watched him furtively, in silence, trembling for the
young man who, here, in his grasp, had dared say such things to him.
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