Artaserse again. Higher testimony, said Belviso, could not have been
given to Aristarcho as author, or to me as his exponent. Far from being
in disgrace, I was the hero of Siena. The Piazza, the cafes were alive
with my performance, my stage name of Francesco de' Pazzi was in
everybody's mouth. I murmured the name of Aurelia, but Belviso had no
notion of that part of my story, and begged me to sleep. So, after a
time, I think I did--and he also.

At some later hour of the night, which must have been near the edge of
dawn, Belviso woke me by springing off his bed and going to the door.
Presently I heard voices downstairs, stern, short, official voices, and
the hasty whispers of two or three answering at once. What was this?
Steps resounded on the stair, a chink in the door revealed a light
growing in brightness. We were broken in upon where we crouched in
alarm; and I saw a Corporal of the Guard, two or three troopers, the
scared faces of some of our companions.

The corporal held up his candle to look at me. Our colloquy was very
brief.

"You are Francis Strelley, an Englishman?"

"I am."

"You killed a Capuchin in Florence and fled to Lucca?"

"I did."

"You were chastised, and expelled the Republic?"