ny--and she so sweet
and kind to him--he began to take heart of grace once more, and his
volatile mind whispered to his soul the hope that, after all, things
might well be as he had first intended, if he but played his cards
adroitly, and did not mar his chances by the precipitancy that had once
gone near to losing him. His purpose gathered strength from a message
that came that evening from Gian Maria, who was by then assured that
Gonzaga's plan had failed. He sent word that, being unwilling to provoke
the bloodshed threatened by the reckless madman who called himself Monna
Valentina's Provost, he would delay the bombardment, hoping that in
the meantime hunger would beget in that rebellious garrison a more
submissive mood.

Francesco read the message to Madonna's soldiers, and they received it
joyously. Their confidence in him increased a hundredfold by this proof
of the accuracy of his foresight. They were a gay company at supper in
consequence, and gayest of all was Messer Gonzaga, most bravely dressed
in a purple suit of taby silk to honour so portentous an occasion.

Francesco was the first to quit the table, craving Monna Valentina's
leave to be about some duty that took him to the walls. She let him go,
and afterwards sat pensive, nor heeded now Romeo's light chatter, nor
yet the sonnet of Petrarca that presently he sang the company. Her
thoughts were all with him that had left the board. Scarcely a word had
she exchanged with Francesco since that delirious moment when they had
looked into each other's eyes upon the ramparts, and seen the secret
that each was keeping from the other. Why had he not come to her? she
asked herself. And then she bethought her of how Gonzaga had all day
long been glued to her side, and she realised, too, that it was she had
shunned Francesco's company, grown of a sudden strangely shy.

But greater than her shyness was now her desire to be near him, and to
hear his voice; to have him look again upon her as he had looked that
morning, when in terror for him she had sought to dissuade him from
opposing the craven impulse of her men-at-arms. A woman of mature age,
or one riper in experience, would have waited for him to seek her out.
But Valentina, in her sweet naturalness, thought never of subterfuge or
of dalliant wiles. She rose quietly from the table ere Gonzaga's song
was done, and as quietly she slipped from the room.

It was a fine night, the air heavy with the vernal scent of f