"You do not think, lord, that he invited it?"
"Now, shame on you for that thought. Messer Gonzaga may be an idle lute-
thrummer, a poor-spirited coward; but a traitor----! And to betray Monna
Valentina! No, no."
But the fool was far from reassured. He had had the longer acquaintance
of Messer Gonzaga, and his shrewd eyes had long since taken the man's
exact measure. Let Francesco scorn the notion of betrayal at Romeo's
hands; Peppe would dog him like a shadow. This he did for the remainder
of that day, clinging to Gonzaga as if he loved him dearly, and furtively
observing the man's demeanour. Yet he saw nothing to confirm his
suspicions beyond a certain preoccupied moodiness on the courtier's part.
That night, as they supped, Gonzaga pleaded toothache, and with
Valentina's leave he quitted the table at the very outset of the meal.
Peppe rose to follow him, but as he reached the door, his natural enemy,
the friar--ever anxious to thwart him where he could--caught him by the
nape of the neck, and flung him unceremoniously back into the room.
"Have you a toothache too, good-for-naught?" quoth the frate. "Stay you
here and help me to wait upon the company."
"Let me go, good Fra Domenico," the fool whispered, in a voice so earnest
that the monk left his way clear. But Valentina's voice now bade him
stay with them, and so his opportunity was lost.
He moved about the room a very dispirited, moody fool with no quip for
anyone, for his thoughts were all on Gonzaga and the treason that he was
sure he was hatching.
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