ed to him that perhaps he was making
much of nothing. Then:

"You, Aventano," he called, "take your partisan, and patrol the eastern
rampart. There, Messer Gonzaga, I have obeyed your wishes; but Messer
Francesco shall hear of it when he comes his rounds."

Gonzaga left him. Francesco would not make his rounds for another hour,
and by then it would not matter what Fortemani told him. In one way or
another he would be able to account for his action.

He crossed the courtyard, and mounted the steps leading to his own
chamber. Once there, he closed and barred the door. He kindled a light,
and flinging the letter on the table, he sat and contemplated its
exterior and the great red seal that gleamed in the yellow light of his
taper.

So! This knight-errant, this man whom he had accounted a low-born hind,
was none other than the famous Count of Aquila, the well-beloved of the
people of Babbiano, the beau-ideal of all military folk from Sicily to
the Alps. And he had never suspected it! Dull-witted did he now account
himself. Enough descriptions had he heard of that famous condottiero,
that mirror of Italian chivalry. He might have known that there did
not live two men of such commanding ways as he had seen instanced at
Roccaleone. What was his object there? Was it love of Valentina, or was
it----? He paused, as in his mind he made a swift review of the politics
of Babbiano. A sudden possibility occurred to him that made his eyes
sparkle and his hands tremble with eagerness. Was this but a political
scheme to undermine his cousin's throne, to which Gonzaga had heard it
rumoured that Francesco del Falco was an aspirant? If it were so, what a
vengeance would be his to unmask him! How it must humble Valentina! The
letter lay before him. Within it the true facts would be disclosed. What
did his friend Fanfulla write him?

He took the letter up and made a close inspection of the seal. Then
softly, quietly, slowly he drew his dagger. If his suspicions were
unfounded, his dagger heated in the taper should afford him the means to
conceal the fact that he had tampered with that missive. He slipped his
blade under the seal, and worked it cautiously until it came up and set
the letter open. He unfolded it, and as he read his eyes dilated. He
seemed to crouch on his chair, and the hand that held the paper shook.
He drew the candle nearer, and shading his eyes he read it again, word
for word:

"MY DEAR LORD COUNT,--I have delayed wr