At a word
from you my men will flock to obey you, and you may do your will at
Roccaleone."
"Foul traitor that you are," Francesco had laughed at him. "Do you
forget under whom you have taken service? Let be what is, Ercole. But
if a favour you would do me, let me see Zaccaria--the man that came to
Roccaleone to-night."
This Ercole had done for him. Now Zaccaria was fully aware of the
contents of the letter he had carried, having been instructed by Fanfulla
against the chance arising of his being compelled, for his safety, to
destroy it--an expedient to which he now bitterly repented him that he
had not had recourse. From Zaccaria, then, Francesco learnt all that
there was to learn, and since the knowledge but confirmed his fears that
Gian Maria would delay action no longer, he fell a prey to the most
passionate impatience at his own detention.
In the grey hours of the morning he grew calmer, and by the light of a
lamp that he had called Ercole to replenish, he sat down to write a
letter to Valentina, which he thought should carry conviction of his
honesty to her heart. Since she would not hear him, this was the only
course. At the end of an hour--his moribund light grown yellow now that
the sun was risen--his letter was accomplished, and he summoned Ercole
again, to charge him to deliver it at once to Monna Valentina.
"I shall await her return from chapel," answered Ercole. He took the
letter and departed. As he emerged into the courtyard he was startled to
see the fool dash towards him, gasping for breath, and with excitement in
every line of his quaint face.
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