"Sirs, it is a riddle I'll not pretend to solve." There fell a pause in which they eyed one another, and their glances were almost as the glances of baffled men.

They had not looked for such a tone from him, and they questioned with their eyes and minds the wisdom of going further.

At last, with a half-sigh, Fabrizio da Lodi turned once more to Aquila.
"Lord Count," he began, in a calm, impressive voice, "I am an old man; the name I bear and the family from which I spring are honourable alike.
You cannot think so vilely of me as to opine that in my old age I should do aught to smirch the fair fame of the one or of the other.

To be named a traitor, sir, is to be given a harsh title, and one, I think, that could fit no man less than it fits me or any of these my companions.
Will you do me the honour, then, to hear me out, Excellency; and when you have heard me, judge us.

Nay, more than judgment we ask of you, Lord Count.