* * * * *
Because he was the young brother of Nicolotto Muti they admitted him
into the castle.
His countenance was effeminate, fervent, and artful. The elegance of
his manner was nearly Oriental. The rough soldiers grinned in
amusement, or frowned in disgust. Madonna Gemma, confronted by his
strangeness and complexity, neither frowned nor smiled, but looked
more wan than ever.
Perfumed with sandalwood, in a white, gold-stitched robe, its bodice
tight, its skirts voluminous, she welcomed him in the hall. The
reception over, old Baldo spoke with the crone who served Madonna
Gemma as maid:
"I do not know what this pretty little fellow has in mind.
While I watch him for spying, do you watch him for love-making.
If we discover him at either, perhaps he has caught that new
green-sickness from the north, and thinks himself a singing-bird."
A singing-bird was what Raffaele Muti proved to be.
In the Mediterranean lands a new idea was beginning to alter the
conduct of society. Woman, so long regarded as a soulless animal,
born only to drag men down, was being transfigured into an
immaculate goddess, an angel in human shape, whose business was
man's reformation, whose right was man's worship.
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