"We mount yet higher, signore---_excelsior!_"
The words were breathed rather than whispered into my ear, and Corte stood beside me.
"_Excelsior!_" I repeated with a smile, "but are you not putting your head in the lion's mouth?"
He smiled back upon me, more of a snarl than a smile. "The beast is gorged now. He will not think of me--see, there is some one coming your way--adieu!"
He turned and passed into the groups, and St. Armande touched my arm.
"You are to be presented to the Lady Lucrezia," he said, and the next moment I found myself bowing over the hand of one of the most beautiful, and certainly the most infamous woman of her age. She was barely twenty-three; had already wedded three husbands, and was to become a wife again, and marry Alfonso of Ferrara. She was seated in a low lounge, and as I came up she extended her hand to me with a charming smile. Standing before her, looking at her large limpid eyes, at the small red bow of the lips, and the clear cut features set in a mass of red gold hair, I could not imagine that the stories I had heard were true. It could not be that this fair young woman who was before me had smilingly committed crimes of nameless horror. I would not believe it.
"So, cavaliere, you have come to the court at last! I thought you were never going to do us that honour."
"His Eminence of Strigonia said you meant to take the vows," and a lady, who was leaning over Lucrezia's seat, laughed as she put in these words. I recognised the peculiar unmusical laugh I had heart at the gate St. Paul, and glanced at her with some interest.
"My sister-in-law, Giulia Farnese--Giulia Bella, is it not?" and Lucrezia touched her lightly on the arm.
"Oh, yes, Giulia Bella--and are you really going to become a hermit?"
"I might have had such thoughts until I came here," I said, "but I must now put them aside."
"Neatly turned, cavaliere--St. Armande himself could not have put it better--sit here, chevalier," and Lucrezia made room for St. Armande on her lounge.
At this moment a commotion at the entrance attracted our attention, and a man robed in black, followed by two others, walked up towards the Pope.
"Heavens!" said Lucrezia, "it is Cesare!" and a look that was not sisterly came over her face as she glanced at her brother, who moved slowly up the room, men falling away from each side of him, and greeting no one. He kept himself covered, and below his square velvet cap, I saw a resolute face, the mouth and chin, covered by a moustache and short beard, not so hidden, however, but that one could distinctly see against the dark hair on his face, the full red line of the lips, set in a habitual sneer. Bad as the whole brood of the Borgia were, this was the worst of them all. He was as far beyond them in infamy as they were beyond the rest of mankind in evil doing. The very room was hushed into silence as he entered, and I watched with more interest than I can tell, the stately figure of this wicked man, as he went up to meet his only less wicked father. It was their first meeting since the murder of Pierrot, and Alexander, who stood in dread of his son, began to tremble violently as he approached, looking this way and that, as if he would avoid him. At last they came together face to face, Cesare speaking no word, but lifting his cap with a low bow. Alexander almost made a motion as if he was wringing his hands; but recovered himself with an effort, and kissed his son on the cheek.