thers, who knew naught
of what was passing in Cappoccio's mind, he did a mighty strange thing.
From being the one to instigate them to treachery and mutiny, he was
the one now to raise his voice in a stout argument of loyalty. He agreed
with all that Messer Francesco had said, and he, for one, ranged himself
on Messer Francesco's side to defend the gates from any traitors who
sought to open them to Gian Maria Sforza.

His defection from the cause of mutiny was the signal for the utter
abandoning of that cause itself, and another stout ally came opportunely
to weigh in Francesco's favour was the fact that the half-hour of grace
was now elapsed, and Gian Maria's guns continued silent. He drew their
attention to the fact with a laugh, and bade them go in peace, adding
the fresh assurance that those guns would not speak that day, nor the
next, nor indeed ever.

Utterly conquered by Francesco and--perhaps even more--by his unexpected
ally, Cappoccio, they slunk shamefacedly away to the food and drink that
he bade them seek at Fra Domenico's hands.

CHAPTER XX. THE LOVERS

"How came that letter to your hands?" Valentina asked Gonzaga, when
presently they stood together in the courtyard, whither the courtier had
followed her when she descended.

"Wrapped round an arbalest-bolt that fell on the ramparts yesterday
whilst I was walking there alone," returned Gonzaga coolly.

He had by now regained his composure. He saw that he stood in deadly
peril, and the very fear that possessed him seemed, by an odd paradox,
to lend him the strength to play his part.

Valentina eyed him with a something of mistrust in her glance. But on
Francesco's clear countenance no shadow of suspicion showed. His eyes
almost smiled as he asked Gonzaga:

"Why did you not bear it to Monna Valentina?"

A flush reddened the courtier's cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders
impatiently, and in a voice that choked with anger he delivered his
reply.

"To you, sir, who seem bred in camps and reared in guard-rooms, the
fulness of this insult offered me by Gian Maria may not be apparent. It
may not be yours to perceive that the very contact of that letter soiled
my hands, that it shamed me unutterably to think that that loutish
Duke should have deemed me a target for such a shaft. It were idle,
therefore, to seek to make you understand how little I could bear to
submit to the further shame of allowing another to see the affront that
I was powerless