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gardens, her arms about Giovanni, being particularly loving when she knew Cesare could see her from the house. It made her feel warm and cozy to be loved so much by two such wonderful brothers.
    When Uncle Roderigo came she liked to climb over him looking close into his face, perhaps putting out a delicate finger to touch the nose which seemed gigantic, to caress the heavy jowls, to bury her face in his scented garments and to tell him that the smell of him reminded her of her mother’s flower gardens.
    Uncle Roderigo loved them all dearly, and came often with presents; he would have them stand round him while he sat on the ornamental chair which their mother kept for him, and he would look at them all in turn—his beloved children whom, he told them, he loved beyond all things on Earth; his eyes rested most fondly of all on Giovanni. Lucrezia was aware of this; and sometimes when she saw the dark look it brought to Cesare’s face she would run to Uncle Roderigo and throw herself at him in order to turn his attention from Giovanni to herself.
    She was often successful, for when Uncle Roderigo’s long fingers caressed her yellow hair, when his lips touched her soft cheek, there would be a special tenderness which he could only give to her. He would hold her more tightly to him and kiss her more often.
    “My enchanting little one,” he would murmur. “My little love.”
    Then he ceased to watch Giovanni so devotedly and that pleased Cesare who did not mind Uncle Roderigo’s loving Lucrezia. It was only Giovanni who aroused his jealousy.
    Then Vannozza might appear at the door holding little Goffredo by the hand, pushing him forward; and Goffredo would break from his mother and run shrieking with joy, shouting: “Uncle Roderigo, Goffredo is here.” He would be dressed in his blue tunic, which made him look as beautiful as a painted angel in one of the pictures which their mother cherished; and Uncle Roderigo would hesitate—or pretend to hesitate—for one second before he picked up the beautiful little boy. But only when Vannozza had gone would he smother him with kisses and take him on his knee and let him pull gifts from the pockets of his robes, while he called him “My little Goffredo.”
    Ottaviano never came. Poor Ottaviano, the outsider; he was pale and delicate and he coughed a great deal. He was very like Giorgio, who was kind but who must be, so Cesare commanded, ignored by them all, since he had nothing to do with them.
    But it was through Ottaviano and Giorgio, those two who were regarded as insignificant by the three children in the nursery, that change came into their lives.
    They grew listless, both of them. The weather was sultry and it was said that there was pestilence in the air. Giorgio grew paler and thinner each day until he took to his bed and there was quiet throughout the house.
    Vannozza wept bitterly, for she had come to love her meek husband, and when he died she was very sad. It was not long afterward that little Ottaviano, suffering in the same way as his father had, took to his bed and died. Thus in a few months the household had lost two of its members.
    Lucrezia wept to see her mother unhappy. She missed little Ottaviano too; he had been one of her most faithful admirers.
    Cesare found her crying and wanted to know why.
    “But you know,” she said, her light eyes wide and wondering. “Our father is dead and our little brother with him. Our mother is sad and so am I.”
    Cesare snapped his fingers angrily. “You should not weep for them,” he said. “They are nothing to us.”
    Lucrezia shook her head and for once she would not agree with him. She had loved them both; she found it easy to love people. Giorgio had been so kind to her, Ottaviano had been her dear little brother, so she would insist on weeping even though Cesare forbade her.
    But Cesare must not be crossed. She saw the dark angry look come into his eyes.
    “Lucrezia, you shall not cry for them,” he insisted.