Some murmurs of farewell caught my ears, from those minions with whom I had herded during my three days at the Vatican.

Then Messer del' Orca thrust me forward.
"Mount, Fool, and be off," he rasped.
I mounted, and turned to him.

He was a surly dog; if ever surly dog wore human shape, and the shape was the only human thing about Captain Ramiro.
"Brother, farewell," I simpered.
"No brother of yours, Fool," snarled he.
"True--my cousin only.

The fool of art is no brother to the fool of nature." "A whip!" he roared to his grooms.

"Fetch me a whip." I left him calling for it, as I urged my nag across the snow and over the narrow drawbridge.