After
glowering round him at the wall of mail, he let his head sink down,
and faltered:
"Do you marry her, Cercamorte?"
"Why not?" croaked Lapo. "Having just made a peace shall I give
offence so soon? No, in this case I will do everything according to
honour."
That morning Lapo Cercamorte espoused Madonna Gemma Grangioia. Then,
setting her behind his saddle on a cushion, he took her away to his
own castle. This possession, too, he had won for himself with his
sword. It was called the Vespaione, the Big Hornets' Nest. Rude and
strong, it crowned a rocky hilltop in a lonely region. At the base of
the hill clustered a few huts; beyond lay some little fields; then
the woods spread their tangles afar.
Madonna Gemma, finding herself in this prison, did not weep or utter
a sound for many days.
* * * * *
Here Lapo Cercamorte, pouncing upon such a treasure as had never
come within his reach before, met his first defeat. His fire proved
unable to melt that ice. His coarse mind was benumbed by the
exquisiteness of his antagonist. Now, instead of terror and
self-abasement, he met scorn--the cold contempt of a being rarefied,
and raised above him by centuries of gentler thought and living.
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