ence to bed, and smiled
himself softly to his sleep.

Away in the room under the Lion's Tower, the Count of Aquila, too, paced
his chamber ere he sought his couch, and in his pacing caught sight
of something that arrested his attention, and provoked a smile. In a
corner, among his harness which Lanciotto had piled there, his shield
threw back the light, displaying the Sforza lion quartered with the
Aquila eagle.

"Did my sweet Gonzaga get a glimpse of that he would have no further
need to pry into my parentage," he mused. And dragging the escutcheon
from amongst that heap of armour, he softly opened his window and flung
it far out, so that it dropped with a splash into the moat. That done,
he went to bed, and he, too, fell asleep with a smile upon his lips,
and in his mind a floating vision of Valentina. She needed a strong and
ready hand to guide her in this rebellion against the love-at-arms of
Gian Maria, and that hand he swore should be his, unless she scorned
the offer of it. And so, murmuring her name with a lingering fervour, of
whose true significance he was all-nescient, he sank to sleep, nor
waked again until a thundering at his door aroused him. And to his still
dormant senses came the voice of Lanciotto, laden with hurry and alarm.

"Awake, lord! Up, afoot! We are beset."

CHAPTER XVII. THE ENEMY

The Count leapt from his bed, and hastened to throw wide the door to
admit his servant, who with excited face and voice bore him the news
that Gian Maria had reached Roccaleone in the night, and was now
encamped in the plain before the castle.

He was still at his tale when a page came with the message that Monna
Valentina besought Messer Francesco's presence in the great hall.
He dressed in all haste, and then, with Lanciotto at his heels, he
descended to answer her summons. As he crossed the second courtyard
he beheld Valentina's ladies grouped upon the chapel-steps in excited
discussion of this happening with Fra Domenico, who, in full canonicals,
was waiting to say the morning's Mass. He gave them a courteous "Good
morrow," and passed on to the banqueting-hall, leaving Lanciotto
without.

Here he found Valentina in conference with Fortemani. She was pacing
the great room as she talked; but, beyond that, there was no sign of
excitement in her bearing, and if any fear of the issue touched her
heart now that the moment for action was at hand, it was wondrously
well-suppressed. At sight of Francesc