butthe Duke put up his hand. "Young man," said he sternly, "I am Duke of Ferrara, and you are my prisoner. Be good enough to remember that."
Angioletto hung his head. Borso turned again to Bellaroba, but kept the other in his eye.
"Now, missy, what had you to do with Captain Mosca's headpiece?"
"Nothing, my lord."
"What!" he roared. "Did you not cut it off?"
"No, my lord."
"Why not, girl? He was your enemy, I suppose?"
"I think he was, my lord."
"Think! Do you not know it? What did he want of you?"
"He wanted to make me bad, my lord."
"Ah! So you stabbed him, eh?"
"No, my lord."
"Come now, come now, girl. Look at your frock."
She did look and was silent.
"Well!" Borso continued, after a sharp glance at Angioletto. "Did your husband cut it off?"
"No, my lord, he wasn't there—but—"
"Well—but what?"
"He would have killed him, my lord."
"Oh, the devil he would! Why?"
"Because he loves me, my lord."
"H'm. Well, Miss Bellaroba, where's your hand?"
She held it out. "Here, sir."
"What a little one! Well, put it on your heart. Now, how does it feel?"
