ily, before Gonzaga could offer a reply.
"They are my soldiers."

Again he bowed, and there was a cold politeness in the tones in which he
answered her:

"I crave your pardon, and I will say no more--unless it be to deplore
that I may not felicitate you on your choice."

It was Gonzaga's turn to wax angry, for the choice had been his.

"Your message will have need to be a weighty one, sir, to earn our
patience for your impertinence."

Francesco returned the look of those blue eyes which vainly sought to
flash ferociously, and he made little attempt to keep his scorn from
showing in his glance. He permitted himself even to shrug his shoulders
a trifle impatiently.

"Indeed, indeed, I think that I had best begone," he answered
regretfully, "for it is a place whose inmates seem all bent on
quarrelling with me. First your captain Fortemani greets me with an
insolence hard to leave unpunished. You, yourself, Madonna, resent that
I should crave protection for my man against those fellows whose looks
give rise for my solicitation. You are angry that I should dub them
ruffians, as if I had followed the calling of arms these ten years
without acquiring knowledge of the quality of a man however much you may
disguise him. And lastly, to crown all, this cicisbeo"--and he spread a
hand contemptuously towards Gonzaga--"speaks of my impertinences."

"Madonna," cried Gonzaga, "I beg that you will let me deal with him."

Unwittingly, unwillingly, Gonzaga saved the situation by that prayer.
The anger that was fast rising in Madonna's heart, stirred by the proud
bearing of the Count, was scattered before the unconscious humour of her
captain's appeal, in such ludicrous contrast was his mincing speech and
slender figure with Francesco's firm tones and lean, active height.
She did not laugh, for that would have been to have spoilt all, but she
looked from one to the other with quiet relish, noting the glance
of surprise and raised eyebrows with which the Count received the
courtier's request to be let deal with him. And thus, being turned
from anger, the balance of her mind was quick to adjust itself, and
she bethought her that perhaps there was reason in what this knight
advanced, and that his reception had lacked the courtesy that was his
due. In a moment, with incomparable grace and skill, she had soothed
Gonzaga's ruffled vanity, and appeased the Count's more sturdy
resentment.

"And now, Messer Francesco," she concluded, "le