ou to say?"

"That I was not the instigator," he answered sullenly.

"It is all one," she returned, "for at least it was done with your
sanction, and you took a share in that cruel sport, instead of
restraining it, as was clearly your duty. It is upon you, the captain,
that the responsibility rests."

"Lady," he explained, "they are wild souls, but very true."

"True to their wildness, maybe," she answered him disdainfully. Then she
proceeded: "You will remember that twice before has Messer Gonzaga had
occasion to admonish you. These last two nights your men have behaved
riotously within my walls. There has been hard drinking, there has been
dicing, and such brawling once or twice as led me to think there would
be throats cut among your ranks. You were warned by Messer Gonzaga to
hold your followers in better leash, and yet to-day, without so much as
drunkenness to excuse them, we have this vile affair, with yourself for
a ringleader in it."

There followed a pause, during which Ercole stood with bent head like
one who thinks, and Francesco turned his wonder-laden glance upon this
slight girl with the gentle brown eyes which had been so tender and
pitiful. Marvelling at the greatness of her spirit, he grew--all
unconsciously--the more enslaved.

Gonzaga, all unconcerned in this, eyed Fortemani in expectation of his
answer.

"Madonna," said the bully at last, "what can you look for from such a
troop as this? Messer Gonzaga cannot have expected me to enlist acolytes
for a business that he told me bordered upon outlawry. Touching their
drunkenness and the trifle of rioting, what soldiers have not these
faults? When they have them not, neither have they merit. The man that
is tame in times of peace is a skulking woman in times of war. For
the rest, whence came the wine they drank? It was of Messer Gonzaga's
providing."

"You lie, hound!" blazed Gonzaga. "I provided wine for Madonna's table,
not for the men."

"Yet some found its way to them; which is well. For water on the stomach
makes a man poor-spirited. Where is the sin of a little indulgence,
Madonna?" he went on, turning again to Valentina. "These men of
mine will prove their mettle when it comes to blows. They are dogs
perhaps--but mastiffs every one of them, and would lose a hundred lives
in your service if they had them."

"Aye, if they had them," put in Gonzaga sourly; "but having no more than
one apiece, they'll not care to spare it."

"Nay, there