have come to it." And with a shrug
Fanfulla turned to give his attention to the Count, whom Fra Domenico
was already tending.

Valentina, to relieve the awkwardness of the moment, proposed to
Gonzaga that he should get his escort to horse, and have her litter
in readiness, so that they might resume their journey as soon as Fra
Domenico should have concluded his ministrations.

Gonzaga bowed, and with a vicious glance at the strangers and an
angry "Follow me!" to Beltrame and the others, he departed with the
men-at-arms at his heels.

Valentina remained with Fanfulla and Peppe, whilst Fra Domenico dressed
Francesco's wound, and, presently, when the task was accomplished, they
departed, leaving Fanfulla amid the Count alone. But ere she went she
listened to Francesco's thanks, and suffered him to touch her ivory
fingers with his lips.

There was much he might have said but that the presence of the other
three restrained him. Yet some little of that much she may have seen
reflected in his eyes, for all that day she rode pensive, a fond,
wistful smile at the corners of her lips. And although to Gonzaga she
manifested no resentment, yet did she twit him touching that mistake
of his. Sore in his dignity, he liked her playful mockery little yet he
liked the words in which she framed it less.

"How came you into so grievous an error, Ser Romeo?" she asked him, more
than once. "How could you deem him a rogue--he with so noble a mien and
so beautiful a countenance?" And without heeding the sullenness of his
answers, she would lapse with a sigh once more into reflection--a thing
that galled Gonzaga more, perhaps, than did her gibes.

CHAPTER V. GIAN MARIA

It was a week after the meeting 'twixt the niece of Guidobaldo and the
Count of Aquila, when the latter--his wound being wellnigh healed--rode
one morning under the great archway that was the main entrance to the
city of Babbiano. The Captain of the Gate saluted him respectfully as
he rode by, and permitted himself to marvel at the pallor of his
Excellency's face. And yet, the cause was not very far to seek. It stood
upon four spears, among a noisy flock of circling crows, above that very
Gate---called of San Bacolo--and consisted of four detruncated human
heads.

The sight of those dead faces grinning horribly, their long, matted
hair fluttering like rags in the April breeze, had arrested Francesco's
attention as he drew nigh. But when presently he came neare