Francesco had put on his harness, and came arrayed from head to foot in
resplendent steel, to do worthy honour to the occasion. A bunch of
plumes nodded in his helm, and for all that his beaver was open, yet the
shadows of the head-piece afforded at the distance sufficient concealment
to his features.
The sight of her uncle left Valentina unmoved. Well-beloved though he
was of his people, between himself and his niece he had made no effort
ever to establish relations of affection. Less than ever did he now seek
to prevail by the voice of kinship. He came in the panoply of war, as a
prince to a rebel subject, and in precisely such a tone did he greet her.
"Monna Valentina," he said--seeming entirely to overlook the circumstance
that she was his kinswoman--"deeply though this rebellion grieves me, you
are not to think that your sex shall gain you any privileges or any
clemency. We will treat you precisely as we would any other rebel
subject who acted as you have done."
"Highness," she replied, "I solicit no privilege beyond that to which my
sex gives me the absolute right, and which has no concern with war and
arms. I allude to the privilege of disposing of myself, my hand and
heart, as it shall please me. Until you come to recognise that I am a
woman endowed with a woman's nature, and until, having realised it, you
are prepared to submit to it, and pass me your princely word to urge the
Duke of Babbiano's suit no further with me, here will I stay in spite of
you, your men-at-arms, and your paltry ally, Gian Maria, who imagines
that love may be made successfully in armour, and that a way to a woman's
heart is to be opened with cannon-shot.
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