"What will you do?" she questioned, in a whisper, her eyes dilating with
alarm.
"Stem the treachery of that rabble," he answered shortly. "Stay you
here, Madonna. Fortemani and I will pacify them--or make an end of
them." And so grimly did he say it that Gonzaga believed it to lie
within his power.
"But you are mad!" she cried, and the fear in her eyes increased. "What
can you do against twenty?"
"What God pleases," he answered, and for a second put the ferocity from
his heart that he might smile reassurance.
"But you will be killed," she cried. "Oh! don't go, don't go! Let them
have their way, Messer Francesco. Let Gian Maria invest the castle. I
care not, so that you do not go."
Her voice, and the tale it told of sweet anxiety for his fate overruling
everything else in that moment--even her horror of Gian Maria--quickened
his blood to the pace of ecstasy. He was taken by a wild longing to
catch her in his arms--this lady hitherto so brave and daunted now by the
fear of his peril only. Every fibre of his being urged him to gather her
to his breast, whilst he poured courage and comfort into her ear. He
fainted almost with desire to kiss those tender eyes, upturned to his in
her piteous pleading that he should not endanger his own life. But
suppressing all, he only smiled, though very tenderly.
"Be brave, Madonna, and trust in me a little. Have I failed you yet?
Need you then fear that I shall fail you now?"
At that she seemed to gather courage.
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