"Couldn't ye say a word to the Marchese, to take him out?" said the
old groom coaxingly; "if so be as the woman is dead, what is the use
of any more ado about it?"
"Well, I hope there may not be much more ado about it. She was
probably killed, poor woman, by some strolling vagabonds. But I wish
it had not happened to vex the Marchese just now. He is not well,
the Marchese. Has he ridden much lately?"
"Hasn't backed a horse since the first week in Carnival," said the
old groom emphatically.
"I hope he will take to his riding again, now Carnival is over. I
think it helps to keep him in health," remarked the lawyer.
"I'm sure I wish he would, for my part," returned the groom; "and I
wished it this morning, I can tell you. I was a-taking his own mare
out this morning--it's a week since she has been out of the stable--
and she was that fresh it was pretty well more than I could do to
hold her. I brought her in all of a lather, and splashed with mud
to her saddle-girths. People; must ha' thought I had been riding a
race,--that is, if any of them had seen me when I came into the
yard; but there wasn't a soul of 'em stirring. Catch any of the lot
up at that time the first morning in Lent."
"He is getting old, too. It would have been a mighty hard horse to
ride that my friend Niccolo would not have been able to hold a year
or two ago," thought the lawyer to himself, as he walked out of the
stable-yard into the little back street that runs behind the
palazzo, and pursued his way thoughtfully towards the residence of
the celebrated anatomist.
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