's scheming. Zaccaria's presence had told him that
Fanfulla must at last have written, and he could but assume that the
letter, falling into Monna Valentina's hands, should have contained
something that she construed into treason on his part.

Bitterly he reproached himself now with not having from the very outset
been frank with her touching his identity; bitterly he reproached her
with not so much as giving a hearing to the man she had professed to
love. Had she but told him upon what grounds her suspicions against him
had been founded, he was assured that he could have dispelled them at
a word, making clear their baselessness and his own honesty of purpose
towards her. Most of all was he fretted by the fact that Zaccaria's
presence, after a coming so long expected and so long delayed, argued
that the news he bore was momentous. From this it might result that
Gian Maria should move at any moment and that his action might be of a
desperate character.

Now through the ranks of Fortemani's men there had run an inevitable
dismay at Francesco's arrest, and a resentment against Valentina who
had encompassed it. His hand it was that had held them together, his
judgment--of which they had had unequivocal signs--that had given them
courage. He was a leader who had shown himself capable of leading, and
out of confidence for whom they would have undertaken anything that
he bade them. Whom had they now? Fortemani was but one of themselves,
placed in command over them by an event purely adventitious. Gonzaga was
a fop whose capers they mimicked and whose wits they despised; whilst
Valentina, though brave enough and high-spirited, remained a girl of no
worldly and less military knowledge, whose orders it might be suicidal
to carry out.

Now by none were these opinions more strongly entertained than by
Ercole Fortemani himself. Never had he performed anything with greater
reluctance than the apprehension of Francesco, and when he thought of
what was likely to follow his consternation knew no bounds. He had come
to respect and, in his rough way, even to love their masterful Provost,
and since learning his true identity, in the hour of arresting him, his
admiration had grown to something akin to reverence for the condottiero
whose name to the men-at-arms of Italy was like the name of some patron
saint.

To ensure the safe keeping of his captive, he had been ordered by
Gonzaga, who now resumed command of Roccaleone, to spend the ni