"Where is my lord?" he inquired, through teeth that chattered from the
cold of his immersion, wondering vaguely who this very magnificent
gentleman might be.
"Is Messer Francesco del Falco your lord?" asked Romeo.
"He is, sir. I have had the honour to serve him these ten years. I
bring him letters from Messer Fanfulla degli Arcipreti. They are very
urgent. Will you lead me to him?"
"You are very wet," murmured Gonzaga solicitously. "You will take your
death from cold, and the death of a man so brave as to have found a way
through Gian Maria's lines were truly deplorable." He stepped to the
door. "Ol?!" he called to the sentry. "Take this brave fellow up there
and find him a change of raiment." He pointed to the upper chamber of
the tower, where, indeed, such things were stored.
"But my letters, sir!" cried Zaccaria impatiently. "They are very
urgent, and hours have I wasted already in waiting for the night."
"Surely you can wait until you have changed your garments? Your life, I
take it, is of more account than the loss of a few moments."
"But my orders from Messer degli Arcipreti were that I must not lose an
instant."
"Oh, si, si!" cried Gonzaga, with a show of good-tempered impatience.
"Give me the letters, then, and I will take them to the Count while you
are stripping those wet clothes."
Zaccaria eyed him a moment in doubt. But he looked so harmless in his
finery, and the expression of his comely face was so winning and honest,
that the man's hesitancy faded as soon as it sprang up.
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