Then he stepped forward, and, leaving the door open behind him, he
advanced into the room.
"Monna Valentina, I have something to communicate to you." His voice
shook slightly. "Messer--Francesco, will you give us leave?" And his
feverish eyes moved to the open door with an eloquence that asked no
words.
Francesco rose slowly, endeavouring to repress his surprise and glanced
across at Valentina, as if awaiting her confirmation or refusal of this
request that he should leave them.
"A communication for me?" she marvelled, a slight frown drawing her brows
together. "Of what nature, sir?"
"Of a nature as important as it is private."
She raised her chin, and with a patient smile she seemed to beg of
Francesco that he would suffer her to humour this mood of Gonzaga's. In
quick obedience Francesco inclined his head.
"I shall be in my chamber until the hour of my rounds, Madonna," he
announced, and with that took his departure.
Gonzaga attended him to the door, which he closed after him, and
composing his features to an expression of sorrowing indignation, he came
back and stood facing Valentina across the table.
"Madonna," he said, "I would to Heaven this communication I have to make
to you came from other lips. In the light of what has passed--here at
Roccaleone--through my folly--you--you may think my mission charged with
vindictiveness."
Perplexity stared at him from her eyes.
"You fill me with alarm, my good Gonzaga," she answered him, though
smiling.
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