interloping of
Francesco.

He stood looking down at the tented plain, with black rage and black
despair blotting the beauty from the sunlight of that May morning, and
then it came to him that since there was naught to be hoped from his
old plans, might it not be wise to turn his attention to new ones that
would, at least, save him from hanging? For he was assured that whatever
might betide the others, his own fate was sealed, whether Roccaleone
fell or not. It would be remembered against him that the affair was of
his instigating, and from neither Gian Maria nor Guidobaldo might he
look for mercy.

And now the thought of extricating himself from his desperate peril
turned him cold by its suddenness. He stood very still a moment; then
looked about him as though he feared that some watching spy might read
on him the ugly intention that of a sudden had leapt to life in his
heart. Swiftly it spread, and took more definite shape, the reflection
of it showing now upon his smooth, handsome face, and disfiguring it
beyond belief. He drew away from the wall, and took a turn or two upon
the ramparts, one hand behind him, the other raised to support his
drooping chin. Thus he brooded for a little while. Then, with another of
his furtive glances, he turned to the north-western tower, and entered
the armoury. There he rummaged until he had found the pen, ink and paper
that he sought, and with the door wide open--the better that he might
hear the sound of approaching steps--he set himself feverishly to write.
It was soon done, and he stood up, waving the sheet to dry the ink. Then
he looked it over again, and this is what he had written:

"I have it in my power to stir the garrison to mutiny and to throw open
the gates of Roccaleone. Thus shall the castle fall immediately into
your hands, and you shall have a proof of how little I am in sympathy
with this rebellion of Monna Valentina's. What terms do you offer me
if I accomplish this? Answer me now, and by the same means as I am
employing, but dispatch not your answer if I show myself upon the
ramparts.

"ROMEO GONZAGA."

He folded the paper, and on the back he wrote the superscription--"To
the High and Mighty Duke of Babbiano." Then opening a large chest that
stood against the wall, he rummaged a moment, and at last withdrew an
arbalest quarrel. About the body of this he tied his note. Next, from
the wall he took down a cross-bow, and from a corner a moulinet for
winding i