"I hate Mastino. He is wearisome," cried Vincenzo, pettishly. "Still, I do not love a laggard."
Conrad's reply was checked. Ippolito d'Este had arisen and was calling them to join him. Reluctantly they rose, Vincenzo with a yawn of distaste, and approached the table.
Ippolito frowned at Vincenzo's face.
"You would spend all your time in idleness, it seems," he said. "Have you no interest then in our decision as to the aid Della Scala asks?"
Vincenzo dropped into his seat, seemingly rebuked. "Aid, my father?" he said. "I knew not it was aid Della Scala asked, methought 'twas all!"
"My proposal is an army," said Giacomo smoothly. "A small army. Let us see what success Della Scala has with a small army. Our all is much to ask."
"What say you to that?" asked Ippolito of his son.
"With all my heart," returned Vincenzo. "An army small or large, so long as it rids us of his gloomy face about court."
"Thou art an insolent boy," interrupted his father sternly. "At thy sister's wedding thou wert proud that Mastino della Scala stooped to pat thee on the head. The Duke of Verona was once as much greater than are we, Vincenzo, than we are higher than a footman. It goes not with nobility nor with honor to slight the fallen."
Vincenzo blushed under his father's rebuke and sat silent. But Giacomo, always ready to smooth things over, turned to the Duchess of Mantua.