Whilst Lanciotto was left busy in the ante-room the Count passed into his
bedchamber attended by Zaccaria, to make in his raiment such changes as
were expedient. But scarce had he begun when he was interrupted by the
arrival of Fanfulla degli Arcipreti, whom Lanciotto ushered in.
Francesco's face lighted at sight of his friend, and he held out his
hand.
"What is it that has happened?" cried the young gallant, adding that
which showed his question to be unnecessary, for from Fabrizio da Lodi he
had had the whole story of what was befallen. He sat himself upon the
bed, and utterly disregarding the presence of Zaccaria--whom he knew to
be faithful--he attempted to persuade the Count where Fabrizio had
failed. But Paolo cut him short ere he had gone very far.
"Have done with that," he said, and for all that he said it with a laugh,
determination sounded sturdy in his accents. "I am a knight-errant, not
a prince, and I'll not be converted from one to the other. It were
making a helot of a free man, and you do not love me, Fanfulla, if you
drive this argument further. Do you think me sad, cast down, at the
prospect of this banishment? Why, boy, the blood runs swifter through my
veins since I heard the sentence. It frees me from Babbiano in an hour
when perhaps my duty--the reciprocation of the people's love--might
otherwise have held me here, and it gives me liberty to go forth, my good
Fanfulla, in quest of such adventure as I chose to follow.
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