h a sly insolence that brought the blood to Francesco's cheeks,
though to the chaste mind of Valentina's it meant nothing--"Ah!" he
rejoined. "But then, your mother----?"

"Was more discriminating, sir, than yours," came the sharp answer, and
from the shadows the fool's smothered burst of laughter added gall to
it.

Gonzaga rose heavily, drawing a sharp breath, and the two men stabbed
each other with their eyes. Valentina, uncomprehending, looked from one
to the other.

"Sirs, sirs, what have you said?" she cried. "Why all this war of
looks?"

"He is over-quick to take offence, Madonna, for an honest man," was
Gonzaga's answer. "Like the snake in the grass, he is very ready with
his sting when we seek to disclose him."

"For shame, Gonzaga," she cried, now rising too. "What are you saying?
Are you turned witless? Come, sirs, since you are both my friends, be
friends each with the other."

"Most perfect syllogism!" murmured the fool, unheeded.

"And you, Messer Francesco, forget his words. He means them not. He is
very hot of fancy, but sweet at heart, this good Gonzaga."

On the instant the cloud lifted from Francesco's brow.

"Why, since you ask me," he answered, inclining his head, "if he'll but
say he meant no malice by his words, I will confess as much for mine."

Gonzaga, cooling, saw that haply he had gone too fast, and was the
readier to make amends. Yet in his bosom he nursed an added store of
poison, a breath of which escaped him as he was leaving Valentina, and
after Francesco had already gone:

"Madonna," he muttered, "I mistrust that man."

"Mistrust him? Why?" she asked, frowning despite her faith in the
magnificent Romeo.

"I know not why; but it is here. I feel it." And with his hand he
touched the region of his heart. "Say that he is no spy, and call me a
fool."

"Why, I'll do both," she laughed. Then more sternly, added: "Get you to
bed, Gonzaga. Your wits play you false. Peppino, call my ladies."

In the moment that they were left alone he stepped close up to her,
spurred to madness by the jealous pangs he had that day endured. His
face gleamed white in the candlelight, and in his eyes there was a
lurking fierceness that gave her pause.

"Have your way, Madonna," he said, in a concentrated voice; "but
to-morrow, whether we go hence, or whether we stay, he remains not with
us."

She drew herself up to the full of her slender, graceful height, her
eyes on a level with Gonzaga's own