She was silent, turning it over in her mind. And because her mind was acute, she saw the proof his words afforded. But because afraid, she mistrusted proof.
“It may be part of the trap,” she complained. “If it were not, why should you remain after denouncing my friends? The aims you pretend would have been fully served by that.”
His answer was prompt and complete.
“If I had departed, you would never have known the answer of those men whom you trust, nor would you have known that there is a Judas amongst them already. It was necessary to warn you.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I see, I think.” And then in sudden revolt against the conviction he was forcing upon her, and in tones which if low were vehement to the point of fierceness: “Necessary!” she cried, echoing the word he had used. “Necessary! How was it necessary? Whence this necessity of yours? A week ago you did not know me. Yet for me, who am nothing to you, whose service carries no reward, you pretend yourself prepared to labour and to take risks involving even your very life. That is what you ask me to believe. You suppose me mad, I think.”
As she faced him now, she fancied that a smile broke upon that face so indistinctly seen. His voice, as he answered her, was very soft.
“It is not mad to believe in madness. Madness exists, madonna. Set me down as suffering from it. The air of the world is proving too strong and heady, perhaps, for one bred in cloisters. It has intoxicated me, I think.”
She laughed chillingly. “For once you offer an explanation that goes a little lame. Your invention is failing, sir.”
“Nay, lady; my understanding,” he answered sadly.
She set a hand upon his arm. He felt it quivering there, which surprised him almost as much as the change in her voice, now suddenly halting and unsteady.
“Messer Bellarion, if my suspicions wound you, set them down to my distraction. It is so easy, so dangerously easy, to believe what we desire to believe.”
“I know,” he said gently. “Yet when you’ve slept on what I’ve said, you’ll find that your safety lies in trusting me.”
“Safety! Am I concerned with safety only? Tonight you saw my brother …”
“I saw. If that is Messer Castruccio’s work …”
“Castruccio is but a tool. Come, sir. We talk in vain.” She began to move along the terrace towards her waiting ladies. Suddenly she paused. “I must trust you, Ser Bellarion. I must or I shall go mad in this ugly tangle. I’ll take the risk. If you are not true, if you win my trust only to abuse it and work the evil will of the Regent, then God will surely punish you.”
“I think so, too,” he breathed.
“Tell me now,” she questioned, “what shall you say to my uncle?”
“Why, that I have talked with you fruitlessly; that either you have no knowledge of Barbaresco or else you withheld it from me.”
“Shall you come again?”
“If you desire it. The way is open now. But what remains to do?”
“You may discover that.” Thus she conveyed that, having resolved to give him her trust, she gave it without stint.
They came back into the hall, where stiff and formally Bellarion made his valedictory bow, then went to take his leave of the Regent.
The Regent disengaged himself from the group of which he was the centre, and, taking Bellarion by the arm, drew him apart a little.
“I have made a sounding,” Bellarion informed him. “Either she mistrusts me, or else she knows nothing of Barbaresco.”
“Be sure of the former, sir,” said the Regent softly. “Procure credentials from Barbaresco, and try again. It should be easy, so.”
XI
Under Suspicion
At Barbaresco’s a surprise awaited Messer Bellarion. The whole company of plotters swarmed about him as he entered the long dusty room of the mezzanine, and he found himself gripped at once between the fierce Casella and the reckless Spigno. He did not like their looks, nor those of any man present. Least of all did he like the looks of Barbaresco who confronted him, oily and falsely suave of manner.
“Where have you been, Master Bellarion?”
He realised that he had need of his wits.
He looked round with surprise and contempt in his stare.
“Oh, yes, you’re conspirators to the life,” he told them. “You see a spy in every neighbour, a betrayal in every act. Oh, you have eyes; but no wit to inform your vision. God help those who trust you! God help you all!” He wrenched at the arms that held him. “Let me go, fools.”
Barbaresco licked his lips. His right hand was held behind his back. Stealthily almost he came a step nearer, so that he was very close.
“Not until you tell us where you have been. Not then, unless you tell us more.”
Bellarion’s sneer became more marked; but no fear showed in his glance. “Where I have been, you know. Hence these tragical airs. I’ve been to court.”
“To what end, Bellarion?” Barbaresco softly questioned. The others preserved a frozen, watchful silence.
“To betray you, of course.” He was boldly ironical. “Having done so, I return so that you may slit my throat.”
Spigno laughed, and released the arm he held.
“I for one am answered. I told you from the first I did not believe it.”
Casella, however, hung on fiercely. “I’ll need a clear answer before I …”
“Give me air, man,” cried Bellarion impatiently, and wrenched his arm free. “No need to maul me. I’ll not run. There are seven of you to prevent me, and reflection may cool your humours. Reflect, for instance, that, if I were for running, I should not have come back.”
“You tell us what you would not or did not do. We ask you what you did,” Barbaresco insisted.
“I’ll tell you yet another thing I would not have done if
