'Your highness honours me by this proof of your trust in my integrity,' said Facino, bending to kiss the jewelled ducal hand.
'Integrity!' The Duke's grotesque face was white, his red eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. 'Is it integrity that brings you in arms against me, Facino?'
'Not against you, Lord Duke. Never yet have I stood in arms against your highness. It is upon your enemies that I make war. I have no aim but the restoration of peace to your dominions.'
'Fine words on the lips of a mutinous traitor!' sneered the Duke. He flung himself petulantly into a chair.
'If your highness believed that, you would not dare to come here.'
'Not dare? God's bones, man! Are these words for me? I am Duke of Milan.'
'I study to remember it, highness,' said Facino, and the rumblings of anger in his voice drove della Torre to pluck at his master's sleeve.
Thus warned, Gian Maria changed the subject but not the tone. 'You know why I am here?'
'To permit me, I hope, to place myself at your potency's commands.'
'Ah! Bah! You make me sick with your fair words.' He grew sullen. 'Come, man. What is your price?'