"
"I think we shall bring you to a more subjective and dutiful frame of
mind, Madonna," was the grim answer.
"Dutiful to whom?"
"To the State, a princess of which you have had the honour to be born."
"And what of my duty to myself, to my heart, and to my womanhood? Is no
account to be taken of that?"
"These are matters, Madonna, that are not to be discussed in shouts from
the walls of a castle--nor, indeed, do I wish to discuss them anywhere.
I am here to summon you to surrender. If you resist us, you do so at
your peril."
"Then at my peril I will resist you--gladly. I defy you. Do your worst
against me, disgrace your manhood and the very name of chivalry by
whatsoever violence may occur to you, yet I promise you that Valentina
della Rovere never shall become the wife of his Highness of Babbiano."
"You refuse to open your gates?" he returned, in a voice that shook with
anger.
"Utterly and finally."
"And you think to persist in this?"
"As long as I have life."
The Prince laughed sardonically.
"I wash my hands of the affair and of its consequences," he answered
grimly. "I leave it in the care of your future husband, Gian Maria
Sforza, and if, in his very natural eagerness for the nuptials, he uses
your castle roughly, the blame of it must rest with you. But what he
does, he does with my full sanction, and I have come hither to advise you
of it since you appeared in doubt. I beg that you will remain there for
a few moments, to hear what his Highness himself may have to say.
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