m over with an eye of sudden understanding. "Yet you
expressed no such hope when you advised this flight to Roccaleone. You
were all for fighting then. A martial ardour consumed you. Whence this
change? Is it the imminence of danger that gives it a reality too grim
for your appetite?"

There was a scorn in her words that wounded him as she meant it should.
His last night's rashness had shown her the need to leave him in no
false opinion of the extent of her esteem, and, in addition, those last
words of his had shown him revealed in a new light, and she liked him
the less by it.

He inclined his head slightly, shame blazing red in his cheeks, that
he should be thus reproved before Fortemani and that upstart Francesco.
That Francesco was an upstart was no longer a matter of surmise with
him. His soul assured him of it.

"Madonna," he said, with some show of dignity, ignoring her gibes, "I
came to bear you news that a herald from Gian Maria craves a hearing.
Shall I hold parley with him for you?"

"You are too good," she answered sweetly. "I will hear the man myself."

He bowed submissively, and then his eye moved to Francesco.

"We might arrange with him for the safe-conduct of this gentleman," he
suggested.

"There is no hope they would accord it," she answered easily. "Nor could
I hope so if they would, for Messer Francesco has consented to fill
the office of Provost of Roccaleone. But we are keeping the messenger
waiting. Sirs, will you attend me to the ramparts?"

They bowed, and followed her, Gonzaga coming last, his tread heavy as a
drunkard's, his face white to the lips in the bitter rage with which he
saw himself superseded, and read his answer to the hot words that last
night he had whispered in Valentina's ear.

As they crossed the courtyard Francesco discharged the first act of his
new office in ordering a half-dozen men-at-arms to fall in behind them,
to the end that they might make some show upon the wall when they came
to parley with the herald.

They found a tall man on a tall, grey horse, whose polished helm shone
like silver in the morning sun, and whose haubergeon was almost hidden
under a crimson tabard ornamented with the Sforza lion. He bowed low as
Valentina appeared, followed by her escort, foremost in which stood the
Count of Aquila, his broad castor pulled down upon his brow, so that it
left his face in shadow.

"In the name of my master, the High and Mighty Lord Gian Maria Sforza,
D