CHAPTER XXIII
IN THE ARMOURY TOWER
The rough stones of the inner courtyard shone clean and bright in the
morning sun, still wet with the heavy rains that had washed them
yesternight.
The fool sat on a rude stool within the porch of the long gallery, and,
moodily eyeing that glistening pavement, ruminated. He was angry, which,
saving where Fra Domenico was concerned, was a rare thing with good-
humoured Peppe. He had sought to reason with Monna Valentina touching
the imprisonment in his chamber of Messer Francesco, and she had bidden
him confine his attention to his capers with a harshness he had never
known in her before. But he had braved her commands, and astonished her
with the information that the true identity of this Messer Francesco had
been known to him since that day when they had first met him at
Acquasparta. He had meant to say more. He had meant to add the
announcement of Francesco's banishment from Babbiano and his notorious
unwillingness to mount his cousin's throne. He had meant to make her
understand that had Francesco been so minded, he had no need to stoop to
such an act as this that she imputed to him. But she had cut him short,
and with angry words and angrier threats she had driven him from her
presence.
And so she was gone to Mass, and the fool had taken shelter in the porch
of the gallery, that there he might vent some of his ill-humour--or
indeed indulge it--in pondering the obtuseness of woman and the
insidiousness of Gonzaga, to whom he never doubted that this miserable
state of things was due.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299