"
When the envoy, crimson of face and threatening of eye, had withdrawn
under Lodi's escort, Monna Caterina rose, the very incarnation of
outraged patience, and poured her bitter invective upon her rash son's
head.
"Fool!" she stormed at him. "There goes your Duchy--in the hollow of
that man's hand." Then she laughed in bitterness. "After all, in
casting it from you, perhaps you have chosen the wiser course, for, as
truly as there is a God in Heaven, you are utterly unfitted to retain
it."
"My lady mother," he answered her, with such dignity as he could muster
from the wretched heap in which his wits now seemed to lie, "you will be
well advised to devote yourself to your woman's tasks, and not to
interfere in a man's work."
"Man's work!" she sneered. "And you perform it like a petulant boy or a
peevish woman."
"I perform it, Madonna, as best seems to me, for it happens that I am
Duke of Babbiano," he answered sullenly. "I do not fear any Pope's son
that ever stepped. The alliance with Urbino is all but completed. Let
that be established, and if Valentino shows his teeth--by God we'll show
ours."
"Aye, but with this difference, that his are a wolf's teeth, and yours a
lamb's. Besides, this alliance with Urbino is all incomplete as yet.
You had been better advised to have sent away the envoy with some
indefinite promise that would have afforded you respite enough in which
to seal matters with the house of Montefeltro. As it is, your days are
numbered.
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