Nor did Gonzaga suspect any.
"I, soil my hands on that vermin?" he cried, in a voice of horror. "I
would die sooner."
"Or else soon after," squeaked Peppe, who had entered unobserved.
"Patrona mia, you should have seen this paladin," he continued, coming
forward. "Why, Orlando was never half so furious as he when he stood
there telling them what manner of dirt they were, and bidding them to bed
ere he drove them with a broomstick."
"And they went?" she asked.
"Not at first," said the fool. "They had drunk enough to make them very
brave, and one who was very drunk was so brave as to assault him. But
Ser Francesco fells him with his hands, and calling Fortemani he bids him
have the man dropped in a dungeon to grow sober. Then, without waiting
so much as to see his orders carried out, he stalks away, assured that no
more was needed. Nor was it. They rose up, muttering a curse or two,
maybe--yet not so loud that it might reach the ears of Fortemani--and got
themselves to bed."
She looked again at Francesco with admiring eyes, and spoke of his
audacity in commending terms. This he belittled; but she persisted.
"You have seen much warring, sir," she half-asked, halfÂasserted.
"Why, yes, Madonna."
And here the writhing Gonzaga espied his opportunity.
"I do not call to mind your name, good sir," he purred.
Francesco half-turned towards him, and for all that his mind was working
with a lightning quickness, his face was indolently calm.
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