They were still wrangling there in a most unseemly fashion when a
trumpet-blast reached them from beyond the walls.
"The herald again," she cried. "Come, Messer Francesco, let us hear what
fresh message he brings."
She led Francesco away, leaving Gonzaga in the shadow of the vines,
reduced well-nigh to tears in the extremity of his mortification.
The herald was returned with the announcement that Valentina's answer
left Gian Maria no alternative but to await the arrival of Duke
Guidobaldo, who was then marching to join him. The Duke of Urbino's
presence would be, he thought, ample justification in her eyes for the
challenge Gian Maria had sent, and which he would send again when her
uncle arrived to confirm it.
Thereafter, the remainder of the day was passed in peace at Roccaleone,
if we except the very hell of unrest that surged in the heart of Romeo
Gonzaga. He sat disregarded at supper that evening, save by Valentina's
ladies and the fool, who occasionally rallied him upon his glumness.
Valentina herself turned her whole attention to the Count, and whilst
Gonzaga--Gonzaga, the poet of burning fancy, the gay songster, the
acknowledged wit, the mirror of courtliness--was silent and tongue-tied,
this ruffling, upstart swashbuckler entertained them with a sprightliness
that won him every heart--always excepting that of Romeo Gonzaga.
Francesco made light of the siege in a manner that enlivened every soul
present with relief. He grew merry at the expense of Gian Maria, and
made it very plain that he could have found naught more captivating to
his warlike fancy than this business upon which an accident had embarked
him.
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