“My name,” he said serenely, “is, as I have told you. Francesco.”
“But you have another?” quoth Valentina, interest prompting the question.
“Why, yes, but so closely allied to the first as to be scarce worth reciting. I am Francesco Franceschi, a wandering knight.”
“And a true one, as I know.” She smiled at him so sweetly that Gonzaga was enraged.
“I have not heard the name before,” he murmured, adding:
Then with a sly insolence that brought the blood to Francesco's cheeks, though to the chaste mind of Valentina's it meant nothing--“Ah!” he rejoined. “But then, your mother----?”
“Was more discriminating, sir, than yours,” came the sharp answer, and from the shadows the fool's smothered burst of laughter added gall to it.
Gonzaga rose heavily, drawing a sharp breath, and the two men stabbed each other with their eyes. Valentina, uncomprehending, looked from one to the other.
“Sirs, sirs, what have you said?” she cried. “Why all this war of looks?”
“He is over-quick to take offence, Madonna, for an honest man,” was Gonzaga's answer. “Like the snake in the grass, he is very ready with his sting when we seek to disclose him.”
“For shame, Gonzaga,” she cried, now rising too. “What are you saying? Are you turned witless? Come, sirs, since you are both my friends, be friends each with the other.”
“Most perfect syllogism!” murmured the fool, unheeded.
“And you, Messer Francesco, forget his words. He means them not. He is very hot of fancy, but sweet at heart, this good Gonzaga.”
On the instant the cloud lifted from Francesco's brow.
“Why, since you ask me,” he answered, inclining his head, “if he'll but say he meant no malice by his words, I will confess as much for mine.”
Gonzaga, cooling, saw that haply he had gone too fast, and was the readier to make amends. Yet in his bosom he nursed an added store of poison, a breath of which escaped him as he was leaving Valentina, and after Francesco had already gone:
“Madonna,” he muttered, “I mistrust that man.”
“Mistrust him? Why?” she asked, frowning despite her faith in the magnificent Romeo.
“I know not why; but it is here. I feel it.” And with his hand he touched the region of his heart. “Say that he is no spy, and call me a fool.”
“Why, I'll do both,” she laughed. Then more sternly, added: “Get you to bed, Gonzaga. Your wits play you false. Peppino, call my ladies.”