Left alone, Gonzaga lay face downward where he had been flung, able to do
little more than groan and sweat in the extremity of his despair, whilst
he awaited the coming of those who would probably make an end of him.
Not even from Valentina could he hope for mercy, so incriminating was the
note he had penned. His letter was to enjoin the Duke to hold his men in
readiness at the hour of the Angelus next morning, and to wait until
Gonzaga should wave a handkerchief from the battlements. At that he was
to advance immediately to the postern, which he would find open, and the
rest, Gonzaga promised him, would be easy. He would take the whole
garrison at their prayers and weaponless.
When Francesco read it a light leapt to his eye and an oath to his lips;
but neither glance nor oath were of execration, as Ercole stood
expecting. A sudden idea flashed through the Count's mind, so strange
and humorous and yet so full of promise of easy accomplishment, that he
burst into a laugh.
"Now may God bless this fool for the most opportune of traitors!" he
exclaimed, in surprise at which Fortemani's mouth fell open, and the eyes
of Peppe grew very round.
"Ercole, my friend, here is a bait to trap that lout my cousin, such as I
could never have devised myself."
"You mean----?"
"Take it back to him," cried the Count, holding out the letter with a
hand that trembled in the eagerness of his spirit. "Take it back, and
get him by fair means or foul to shoot it as he intended; or if he
refuses, why, then, do you seal it up and shoot it yourself.
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