The Fourth Plague Read Online Free

little forward, looking at his father steadily, speculatively, curiously.
    For a few minutes they stared at one another, and the boy on the other side of the table glanced from father to brother, from brother to father, eagerly.
    At last the old man withdrew his eyes with a shrug, and Antonio leant across the table, and plucked two grapes from a big silver dish in the centre, with a hand to which neither annoyance nor fear contributed a tremor.
    The old man turned to his favourite.
    â€œYou may expect the birri here to-day or to-morrow,” he said. “There will be a search for papers. A crowd of dirty Neapolitans will go rummaging through this house. I suppose you would like me to ask your friend, Tillizini, to stay to dinner?” he said, turning to the other with a little sneer.
    â€œAs to that, you must please yourself, father; I should be very delighted if you did.”
    â€œBy faith, you would,” snarled the old man. “If I had an assurance that the old dog would choke, I’d invite him. I know your Tillizini,” he said gratingly, “Paulo Tillizini.” He laughed, but there was no humour in his laughter.
    Antonio rose from the table, folded his serviette into a square and placed it neatly between the two Venetian goblets which were in front of him.
    â€œI have your permission to retire?” he said, with a ceremonious little bow.
    A jerk of the head was the only answer.
    With another little bow to his brother, the young man left the room. He walked through the flagged and gloomy hall to the ponderous door of the Palazzo.
    A servant in faded livery opened the door, and he stepped out into the blinding sunlight. The heat struck up at him from the paved street as from a blast furnace.
    He had no definite plans for spending the afternoon, but he was anxious to avoid any further conflict with his father; and though he himself did not approve of the association which his house had formed with the many desperate, guilty bands which tyrannized over Italy, yet he was anxious to think out a method by which the inevitable exposure and disgrace might be avoided.
    There was no question of sentiment as far as he was concerned. He had reached the point where he had come to regard not only his father, but his younger brother, so eager to assist and so anxious for the day when he would be able to take an active part in the operations of the League, as people outside the range of his affections.
    It was natural that he should gravitate towards the Piazza del Campo. All Siena moved naturally to this historic fan-like space, with its herring-boned brick pavement, and its imperishable association with the trials and triumphs of Siena.
    He stood by the broad central pavement which marks the course of the Pallio, deep in thought, oblivious of the many curious glances which were thrown in his direction. For despite the heat of the day, all Siena was abroad.
    Had he been less engrossed by his thoughts, he might have regarded it as curious that the Sienese, who hold this hour sacred to the siesta, should have so thronged the square and the street, on a hot June afternoon.
    Standing there, absorbed by his thoughts, he heard his name spoken softly behind him, and turned.
    He snatched off his soft felt hat with a smile, and extended his hand.
    â€œI did not expect to see you, Signor Tillizini,” he said.
    The pleasure of the meeting, however, was over-clouded a second later, as he realized with a sense of apprehension that the old professor’s visit was not without gloomy significance to his house.
    Professor Tillizini, at that time, was in his eightieth year. As straight as a die, his emaciated and aesthetic face was relieved by two burning eyes in which the soul of the man throbbed and lived.
    He took the arm of his pupil and led him across the piazza at a slow pace.
    â€œAntonio mio,” he said with grave affection, “I am come because the Government desires certain information. You