t us be friends, and let
me hear your business. I beg that you will sit."

They had passed into the banqueting-hall--a noble apartment, whose walls
were frescoed with hunting and pastoral scenes, one or two of which
were the work of Pisaniello. There were, too, some stray trophies of
the chase, and, here and there, a suit of costly armour that caught the
sunlight pouring through the tall, mullioned windows. At the far end
stood a richly carved screen of cedar, and above this appeared the
twisted railing of the minstrels' gallery. In a tall armchair of
untanned leather, at the head of the capacious board, Monna Valentina
sat herself, Gonzaga taking his stand at her elbow, and Francesco
fronting her, leaning lightly against the table.

"The news I bear you, lady, is soon told," said the Count. "I would its
quality were better. Your suitor Gian Maria returning to Guidobaldo's
court, eager for the nuptials that were promised him, has learnt of your
flight to Roccaleone and is raising--indeed will have raised by now--an
army to invest and reduce your fortress."

Gonzaga turned as pale as the vest of white silk that gleamed beneath
his doublet of pearl-coloured velvet at this realisation of the
prophecies he had uttered without believing. A sickly fear possessed
his soul. What fate would they mete out to him who had been the leading
spirit in Valentina's rebellion? He could have groaned aloud at this
miscarriage of all his fine plans. Where now would be the time to talk
of love, to press and carry his suit with Valentina and render himself
her husband? There would be war in the air, and bloody work that made
his skin creep and turn cold to ponder on. And the irony of it all
was keenly cruel. It was the very contingency that he had prophesied,
assured that neither Guidobaldo nor Gian Maria would be so mad as to
court ridicule by engaging upon it.

For a second Francesco's eyes rested on the courtier's face, and saw the
fear written there for all to read. The shadow of a smile quivered on
his lips as his glance moved on to meet the eyes of Valentina, sparkling
as sparkles frost beneath the sun.

"Why, let them come!" she exclaimed, almost in exultation. "This ducal
oaf shall find me very ready for him. We are armed at all points. We
have victuals to last us three months, if need be, and we have no lack
of weapons. Let Gian Maria come, and he will find Valentina della Rovere
none so easy to reduce. To you, sir," she continu