ia was sore he was wont to be
vindictive, and on the present occasion he was something even more.

There abode with him the memory of the fool's words, and the suggestion
that in the heart of Valentina was framed the image of some other man.
Now, loving her, in his own coarse way, and as he understood love, the
rejected Duke waxed furiously jealous of this other at whose existence
Peppe had hinted. This unknown stood in his path to Valentina, and to
clear that path it suggested itself to Gian Maria that the simplest
method was to remove the obstacle. But first he must discover it, and
to this he thought, with a grim smile, the fool might--willy-nilly--help
him.

He returned to his own apartments, and whilst the preparations for
his departure were toward, he bade Alvaro summon Martin Armstadt--the
captain of his guard. To the latter his orders were short and secret.

"Take four men," he bade him, "and remain in Urbino after I am gone.
Discover the haunts of Peppe the fool. Seize him, and bring him after
me. See that you do it diligently, and let no suspicion of your task
arise."

The bravo--he was little better, for all that he commanded the guards of
the Duke of Babbiano--bowed, and answered in his foreign, guttural voice
that his Highness should be obeyed.

Thereafter Gian Maria made shift to depart. He took his leave of
Guidobaldo, promising to return within a few days for the nuptials, and
leaving an impression upon the mind of his host that his interview with
Valentina had been very different from the actual.

It was from Valentina herself that Guidobaldo was to learn, after Gian
Maria's departure, the true nature of that interview, and what had
passed between his niece and his guest. She sought him out in his
closet, whither he had repaired, driven thither by the demon of gout
that already inhabited his body, and was wont to urge him at times to
isolate himself from his court. She found him reclining upon a couch,
seeking distraction in a volume of the prose works of Piccinino. He was
a handsome man, of excellent shape, scarce thirty years of age. His face
was pale, and there were dark circles round his eyes, and lines of pain
about his strong mouth.

He sat up at her advent, and setting his book upon the table beside him,
he listened to her angry complaints.

At first, the courtly Montefeltro inclined to anger upon learning of
the roughness with which Gian Maria had borne himself. But presently he
smiled