THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

ose from my knees. If I rode in the country I knew that he was not far away, if I frequented public assemblies I saw his keen
eyes upon me, and his wide mouth fixed at a patient grin. He was oppressively, sickeningly affectionate, his role being that of the
old friend of my family, who had rocked my cradle and held me by my leading-strings. At meals he came skipping about me
with little offerings: "A rose-bud for my bosom's king!" he would say; "Fresh-pulled radishes for my heart's blood!"; and once,
while I was at dinner, he danced up to the table with a large and bleeding rabbit, saying, "A coney for my dear, of old
Palamone's wiring!" This was too much for my patience; I swung the beast about his ears, drove him from the room and flung
his catch after him. He brought me no more presents, but did not cease to be my shadow.
CHAPTER XL. I GET RID OF MY ENEMY AND PART FROM MY FRIEND
When the day drew near upon which I had appointed to depart from Florence, I saw that I must come to terms with the fellow.
I sent Belviso out to look for him—and to find him at no greater distance than the other side of the door, with his eye at the
keyhole. He came in, blinking like an owl, still weak with his recent excesses, and very nervous. I felt my gorge rise at the sight
of him, but did my best to be cool.
"Palamone," I began, "it appears that you have recently done me a service——"
He leered at me. "My Francis! When—and at what hour of day or night have I not been ready to serve you?"
"Why, that's as may be," said I. "I think I could remind you of a night attack at Pistoja——"
"Oh, cruel," he said, "oh, cruel!"
"Of a ravishment—of the strappado applied to a man bound hand and foot—"
He pretended to weep. "Cruel, cruel Francis!"
"Of detestable treachery in Florence when you set to work to entrap a good girl who had done you no harm in the world—and,
Fra Palamone, I think I may remind you of the payment of those services of yours IN KIND, in the Piazza of Santa Maria."
With clasped hands, streaming eyes, he beamed upon me. "Generous hand! Oh, healing, life-giving blood!"
"I am glad," I said, "that you consider yourself healed by bleeding. But now, it appears, you have appointed yourself messenger
from my friends, and have succeeded in benefiting me without extraordinary robbery. I cannot suppose that you did this for
love."
"Believe it," says he, "believe it, Francis."
"You must forgive me if I cannot," said I. "On the contrary, I believe that you have acted for what profit you can make out of it.
I never asked you to interfere in my affairs, and owe you less than nothing, but to make an end of you, since you do, perhaps,
believe that you have served me with this late news of what you, no doubt, would call my 'good fortune,' I will give you more
than you deserve." I counted out ten guineas, or their equivalent, and held them out to him.
His eyes gleamed, as if a fire had suddenly been kindled in them by the sight of money. He pounced at my hand and emptied it,
as a dog scrapes in the ground. Holding his coins close to his breast, he snarled at me of his astuteness, and took obscene pride
in his guile. "Is Palamone an old fool then? Eh, mercy and truth, was there ever such a wise old fox born into this world? Did I
not, when I saw you at Rovigo, lay this finger to this nose, and say, 'La, la, Palamone, fratello, here is a pigeon for your plucking
hand'? Did I not know you for an Englishman, for a nobleman born? For what do you take me? I knew that you had run away
out of a scrape, I knew that the money-bags would be emptied to find you. Wise old Palamone! Deep-browed old night-bird!
Darkly thinking, quickly acting old Fox-Palamone! And now, take heed to this, I have never lost you, but have been hard on
your heels though Jesuits and Ministers and woman after woman have beset you on all sides. And what have I gained by all
this? A wound in the breast, my conscience! A slug through the lung, on the word of a Christian—and my Francis, the child of
my sorrow, fed upon my tears, talks to me of profit—O Dio! O Dio!" He wrung his hands and howled; then, grinning like a
wolf, he came creeping to me, his fingers gripping the air like claws. "Give me more money, Francis, you who have so much—
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