Peppe looked glum and sullen. Had he but bridled his cursed curiosity,
and had the Count but taken the alarm in time and held his peace, all
might have been well with his beloved patrona. As it was, he--the one
man ready to die that he might serve her--had been the very one to betray
her refuge. He heard the Count's laugh, and the sound of it was fuel to
his anger. But Francesco only thought of the splendid daring of the
lady's action.
"But these men-at-arms that she had with her?" he cried. "For what
purpose so numerous a bodyguard?"
The captain looked at him a moment.
"Can you not guess?" he inquired. "Perhaps you do not know the Castle of
Roccaleone."
"It were odd if I did not know the most impregnable fortress in Italy."
"Why, then, does it not become clear? She has taken this company for a
garrison, and in Roccaleone she clearly intends to resist in rebel
fashion the wishes of his Highness."
At that the Count threw back his head, and scared the passers-by with as
hearty a peal of laughter as ever crossed his lips.
"By the Host!" he gasped, laughter still choking his utterance. "There
is a maid for you! Do you hear what the captain says, Fanfulla? She
means to resist this wedding by armed force if needs be. Now, on my
soul, if Guidobaldo insists upon the union after this, why, then, he has
no heart, no feeling. As I live, she is a kinswoman that such a warlike
prince might well be proud of. Small wonder that they do not fear the
Borgia in Urbino.
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