ain--a very courtier--he
withdrew.

The closing of the door was to Gonzaga a signal to break out in a
torrent of bitter reproofs against Francesco, reproofs that were stemmed
midway by Valentina.

"You are beside yourself, Gonzaga," she exclaimed. "What has been done,
has been done with my sanction. I do not doubt the wisdom of it."

"Do you not? God send you never may! But that man will know no peace
until he is avenged on us."

"Messer Gonzaga," returned Francesco, with an incomparable politeness,
"I am an older man than are you, and maybe that I have seen more warring
and more of such men. There is a certain valour lurks in that bully
for all his blustering boastfulness and swagger, and there is, too, a
certain sense of justice. Mercy he has had to-day, and time will show
how right I am in having pardoned him in Madonna's name. I tell you,
sir, that nowhere has Monna Valentina a more faithful servant than he is
now likely to become."

"I believe you, Messer Francesco. Indeed, I am sure your act was wisdom
itself."

Gonzaga gnawed his lip.

"I may be wrong," said he, in grudging acquiescence. "I hope, indeed, I
may be."

CHAPTER XVI. GONZAGA UNMASKS

The four great outer walls of Roccaleone stood ranged into a mighty
square, of which the castle proper occupied but half. The other half,
running from north to south, was a stretch of garden, broken into three
terraces. The highest of these was no more than a narrow alley under
the southern wall, roofed from end to end by a trellis of vines on beams
blackened with age, supported by uprights of granite, square and roughly
hewn.

A steep flight of granite steps, weedy in the interstices of the old
stone, and terminating in a pair of couchant lions at the base, led down
to the middle terrace, which was called the upper garden. This was split
in twain by a very gallery of gigantic box trees running down towards
the lower terrace, and bearing eloquent witness to the age of that old
garden. Into this gallery no sun ever penetrated by more than a furtive
ray, and on the hottest day in summer a grateful cool dwelt in its green
gloom. Rose gardens spread on either side of it, but neglect of late had
left them rank with weeds.

The third and lowest of these terraces, which was longer and broader
than either of those above, was no more than a smooth stretch of lawn,
bordered by acacias and plane trees, from the extreme corner of which
sprang a winding, iron-r