In that moment of wrath he forgot their positions, and gave
never a thought to the smarting that must be with Gonzaga at the loss of
rank he had suffered since Valentina had appointed a provost.
"And are these your methods of fortifying Roccaleone?" he asked, in a
voice that cut like a knife. "You have laid in good store of wine, a
flock of sheep, and endless delicacies, sir," he jeered. "Did you expect
to pelt the enemy with these, or did you reckon upon no enemy at all?"
Now this question touched so closely upon the truth, that it fired in
Gonzaga's bosom an anger that for the moment made a man of him. It was
the last breath that blew into a blaze the smouldering wrath he carried
in his soul.
His retort came fierce and hot. It was as unmeasured and contemptuous as
Francesco's erst recriminations, and it terminated in a challenge to the
Count to meet him on horse or foot, with sword or lance, and that as soon
as might be.
But Valentina intervened, and rebuked them both. Yet to Francesco her
rebuke was courteous, and ended in a prayer that he should do the best
with such resources as Roccaleone offered; to Gonzaga it was contemptuous
in the last degree, for Francesco's question--which Gonzaga had left
unanswered--coming at a moment when she was full of suspicions of
Gonzaga, and the ends he had sought to serve in advising her upon a
course which he had since shown himself so utterly unfitted to guide, had
opened wide her eyes. She remembered how strangely moved he had been
upon learning yesterday that Gian Maria was marching upon Roccaleone, and
how ardently he had advised flight from the fortress--he that had so
bravely talked of holding it against the Duke.
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