Baldassarre again looked at him suspiciously; and Piero, partly guessing his thought, smiled, took out a knife, and cut the cords. He began to think that the idea of the prisoner's madness was not improbable, there was something so peculiar in the expression of his face. "Well," he thought, "if he does any mischief, he'll soon get tied up again. The poor devil shall have a chance, at least."
"You are afraid of me," he said again, in an undertone; "you don't want to tell me anything about yourself."
Baldassarre was folding his arms in enjoyment of that long-absent muscular sensation. He answered Piero with a less suspicious look and a tone which had some quiet decision in it.
"No, I have nothing to tell."
"As you please," said Piero, "but perhaps you want shelter, and may not know how hospitable we Florentines are to visitors with torn doublets and empty stomachs. There's an hospital for poor travellers outside all our gates, and, if you liked, I could put you in the way to one. There's no danger from your French soldier. He has been sent off."
Baldassarre nodded, and turned in silent acceptance of the offer, and he and Piero left the church together.
"You wouldn't like to sit to me for your portrait, should you?" said Piero, as they went along the Via dell' Orinolo, on the way to the gate of Santa Croce.
