HE INTERRUPTED MASS

The morning of that Wednesday of Corpus Christi, fateful to all
concerned in this chronicle, dawned misty and grey, and the air was
chilled by the wind that blew from the sea. The chapel bell tinkled out
its summons, and the garrison trooped faithfully to Mass.

Presently came Monna Valentina, followed by her ladies, her pages, and
lastly, Peppe, wearing under his thin mask of piety an air of eager
anxiety and unrest. Valentina was very pale, and round her eyes there
were dark circles that told of sleeplessness, and as she bowed her
head in prayer, her ladies observed that tears were falling on the
illuminated Mass-book over which she bent. And now came Fra Domenico
from the sacristy in the white chasuble that the Church ordains for the
Corpus Christi feast, followed by a page in a clerkly gown of black, and
the Mass commenced.

There were absent only from the gathering Gonzaga and Fortemani, besides
a sentry and the three prisoners. Francesco and his two followers.

Gonzaga had presented himself to Valentina with the plausible tale that,
as the events of which Fanfulla's letter had given them knowledge might
lead Gian Maria at any moment to desperate measures, it might be well
that he should reinforce the single man-at-arms patrolling the walls.
Valentina, little recking now whether the castle held or fell, and still
less such trifles as Gonzaga's attendance at Mass, had assented without
heeding the import of what he said.

And so, his face drawn and his body quivering with the excitement of
what he was about to do, Gonzaga had repaired to the ramparts so soon
as he had seen them all safely into chapel. The sentinel was that same
clerkly youth Aventano, who had read to the soldiers that letter Gian
Maria had sent Gonzaga. This the courtier accepted as a good omen. If a
man there was among the soldiery at Roccaleone with whom he deemed that
he had an account to settle, that man was Aventano.

The mist was rapidly lightening, and the country grew visible for miles
around. In the camp of Gian Maria he observed a coming and going of men
that argued an inordinate bustle for so early an hour. They awaited his
signal.

He approached the young sentinel, growing more and more nervous as the
time for action advanced. He cursed Fortemani, who had selfishly refused
to take an active part in the admission of Gian Maria. Here was a task
that Fortemani could perform more satisfactorily than he. He had ur