He is no agent because----" He
hesitated, and glanced swiftly up. Then he sighed, lowered his voice,
and with consummately simulated sorrow, he concluded "Because he is,
himself, Francesco del Falco. Count of Aquila."
She swayed a moment, and the colour died from her cheeks, leaving them
ivory pale. She leaned heavily against the table, and turned over in her
mind what she had heard. And then, as suddenly as it had gone, the blood
rushed back into her face, mounting to her very temples.
"It's a lie!" she blazed at him; "a lie for which you shall be whipped."
He shrugged his shoulders, and cast Francesco's letter on to the table.
"There, Madonna, is something that will prove all that I have said."
She eyed the paper coldly. Her first impulse was to call Fortemani and
carry out her threat of having Gonzaga whipped, refusing so much as to
see this thing that he so confidently termed a proof; but it may be that
his confidence wrought upon her, touching a chord of feminine curiosity.
That he was wrong she never doubted; but that he believed himself right
she was also assured, and she wondered what this thing might be that had
so convinced him. Still she did not touch it, but asked in an
indifferent voice:
"What is it?"
"A letter that was brought hither to-night by a man who swam the moat,
and whom I have ordered to be detained in the armoury tower. It is from
Fanfulla degli Arcipreti to the Count of Aquila. If your memory will
bear you back to a certain day at Acquasparta, you may recall that
Fanfulla was the name of a very gallant cavalier who addressed this
Messer Francesco with marked respect.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293