'What is there in his behests against ... against what I was offering? Am I not commended to you by his testament? Am I not a part of his legacy to you?'
'The service of you is; and your loyal servant, madonna, you shall ever find me.' She turned aside with a little gesture of irritation, and remained silent, thoughtful.
A sleek secretary broke in upon them. The Count of Pavia commanded the Lord Bellarion's presence in the library. A courier had just arrived from Milan with grave news.
'Say to his highness that I come.'
The secretary withdrew.
'You give me leave, madonna?'
She stood leaning sideways against the heavy table, her face averted. 'Aye, you may go.' Her voice rasped.
But he waited yet a moment. 'The sword, madonna? Will you not arm me with your own hands for your service?'
She turned her head to look at him again, and there was now a curl of disdain on her pale lips.
'I thought you looked askance on symbols. Was not that your profession?' She paused, but, without waiting for his answer, added: 'Take up your sword, yourself, you that are so fully master of your own destinies.'