At the edge of the moat he halted, and at
sight of Valentina and her company, he doffed his feathered hat, and
bowed his straw-coloured head.
"Monna Valentina," he called, and when she stepped forth in answer, he
raised his little, cruel eyes in a malicious glance and showed the round
moon of his white face to be whiter even, than its wont--a pallor
atrabilious and almost green.
"I am grieved that his Highness, your uncle, should not have prevailed
with you. Where he has failed, I may have little hope of succeeding--by
the persuasion of words. Yet I would beg you to allow me to have speech
of your captain, whoever he may be."
"My captains are here in attendance," she answered tranquilly.
"So! You have a plurality of them; to command--how many men?"
"Enough," roared Francesco, interposing, his voice sounding hollow from
his helmet, "to blow you and your woman besieging scullions to
perdition."
The Duke stirred on his horse, and peered up at the speaker. But there
was too little of his face visible for recognition, whilst his voice was
altered and his figure dissembled in its steel casing.
"Who are you, rogue?" he asked.
"Rogue in your teeth, be you twenty times a Duke," returned the other, at
which Valentina laughed outright.
Never from the day when he had uttered his first wail had his Highness of
Babbiano heard words of such import from the lips of living man. A
purple flush mottled his cheeks at the indignity of it.
"Attend to me, knave!" he bellowed.
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