“Aye, if they had them,” put in Gonzaga sourly; “but having no more than one apiece, they'll not care to spare it.”
“Nay, there you wrong them,” cried Fortemani, with heat. “Give them a leader strong enough to hold them, to encourage and subject them, and they will go anywhere at his bidding.”
“And there,” put in Gonzaga quickly, “you bring us back to the main issue. Such a leader you have shown us that you are not. You have done worse. You have been insubordinate when you should not only have been orderly, but have enforced orderliness in others. And for that, by my lights, you should be hanged. Waste no more time on him, Madonna,” he concluded, turning to Valentina. “Let the example be made.”
“But, Madonna——” began Fortemani, paling under the tan of his rugged countenance.
Gonzaga silenced him.
“Your words are vain. You have been insubordinate, and for insubordination there is but one penalty.”
The bully hung his head, deeming himself lost, and lacking the wit to retort as Francesco unexpectedly retorted for him.
“Madonna, there your adviser is at fault. The charge against the man is wrong. There has been no insubordination.”
“How?” she questioned, turning to the Count. “None, say you?”
“A Solomon is arisen,” sneered Gonzaga. Then peevishly; “Waste not words with him, Madonna,” he pursued. “Our business is with Fortemani.”