"Is this seemly, sir?" she questioned angrily. "Does it become you to
brawl with my garrison the moment you are admitted?"
The blood rose higher in Francesco's face, and now suffused his temples
and reached his hair. Yet his voice was well restrained as he made
answer:
"Madonna, this knave was insolent."
"An insolence that you no doubt provoked," put in Gonzaga, a dimple
showing on his woman's cheek. But the sterner rebuke fell from the lips
of Valentina.
"Knave?" she questioned, with flushed countenance. "If you would not
have me regret your admittance, Messer Francesco, I pray you curb your
words. Here are no knaves. That, sir, is the captain of my soldiers."
Francesco bowed submissively, as patient under her reproof as he had been
hasty under Fortemani's.
"It was on the matter of this captaincy that we fell to words," he
answered, with more humility. "By his own announcement I understood this
nobleman"--and his eyes turned to Gonzaga--"to be your captain."
"He is the captain of my castle," she informed him.
"As you see, Ser Francesco," put in Peppe, who had perched himself upon
the balustrade, "we suffer from no lack of captains here. We have also
Fra Domenico, who is captain of our souls and of the kitchen; myself am
captain of----"
"Devil take you, fool," snapped Gonzaga, thrusting him roughly from his
perch. Then turning abruptly to the Count: "You bear a message for us,
sir?" he questioned loftily.
Swallowing the cavalier tone, and overlooking the pronoun Gonzaga
employed, Francesco inclined his head again to the lady.
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