“Not altogether so,” said Bernardo. “Piero de’ Medici has abundant intelligence; his faults are only the faults of hot blood. I love the lad—lad he will always be to me, as I have always been ‘little father’ to him.”
“Yet all who want a new order of things are likely to conceive new hopes,” said Bardo. “We shall have the old strife of parties, I fear.”
“If we could have a new order of things that was something else than knocking down one coat of arms to put up another,” said Bernardo, “I should be ready to say, ‘I belong to no party: I am a Florentine.’ But as long as parties are in question, I am a Medicean, and will be a Medicean till I die. I am of the same mind as Farinata degli Uberti: if any man asks me what is meant by siding with a party, I say, as he did, ‘To wish ill or well, for the sake of past wrongs or kindnesses.’ ”
During this short dialogue, Tito had been standing, and now took his leave.
“But come again at the same hour tomorrow,” said Bardo, graciously, before Tito left the room, “that I may give you Bartolommeo’s answer.”
“From what quarter of the sky has this pretty Greek youngster alighted so close to thy chair, Bardo?” said Bernardo del Nero, as the door closed.
He spoke with dry emphasis, evidently intended to convey something more to Bardo than was implied by the mere words.
“He is a scholar who has been shipwrecked and has saved a few gems, for which he wants to find a purchaser. I am going to send him to Bartolommeo Scala, for thou knowest it were more prudent in me to abstain from further purchases.”
Bernardo shrugged his shoulders and said, “Romola, wilt thou see if my servant is without? I ordered him to wait for me here.” Then, when Romola was at a sufficient distance, he leaned forward and said to Bardo in a low, emphatic tone—