"
Gonzaga turned as pale as the vest of white silk that gleamed beneath his
doublet of pearl-coloured velvet at this realisation of the prophecies he
had uttered without believing. A sickly fear possessed his soul. What
fate would they mete out to him who had been the leading spirit in
Valentina's rebellion? He could have groaned aloud at this miscarriage
of all his fine plans. Where now would be the time to talk of love, to
press and carry his suit with Valentina and render himself her husband?
These would be war in the air, and bloody work that made his skin creep
and turn cold to ponder on. And the irony of it all was keenly cruel.
It was the very contingency that he had prophesied, assured that neither
Guidobaldo nor Gian Maria would be so mad as to court ridicule by
engaging upon it.
For a second Francesco's eyes rested on the courtier's face, and saw the
fear written there for all to read. The shadow of a smile quivered on
his lips as his glance moved on to meet the eyes of Valentina, sparkling
as sparkles frost beneath the sun.
"Why, let them come!" she exclaimed, almost in exultation. "This ducal
oaf shall find me very ready for him. We are armed at all points. We
have victuals to last us three months, if need be, and we have no lack of
weapons. Let Gian Maria come, and he will find Valentina della Rovere
none so easy to reduce. To you, sir," she continued, with more calm, "to
you on whom I have no claim, I am more than grateful for your chivalrous
act in riding here to warn me.
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