“Messer Gonzaga's courage seems of a quality that wanes as the need for it increases,” said Valentina.
“You are confounding courage, Madonna, with foolhardy recklessness,” the courtier returned. “You may learn it to your undoing.”
That Gonzaga was not the only one entertaining this opinion they were soon to learn, for, as they reached the courtyard a burly, black-browed ruffian, Cappoccio by name, thrust himself in their path.
“A word with you, Messer Gonzaga, and you, Ser Ercole.” His attitude was full of truculent insolence, and all paused, Francesco and Valentina turning from him to the two men whom he addressed, and waiting to hear what he might have to say to them. “When I accepted service under you, I was given to understand that I was entering a business that should entail little risk to my skin. I was told that probably there would be no fighting, and that if there were, it would be no more than a brush with the Duke's men. So, too, did you assure my comrades.”
“Did you indeed?” quoth Valentina, intervening, and addressing herself to Fortemani, to whom Cappoccio's words had been directed.
“I did, Madonna,” answered Ercole. “But I had Messer Gonzaga's word for it.”
“Did you,” she continued, turning to Gonzaga, “permit their engagement on that understanding?”
“On some such understanding, yes, Madonna,” he was forced to confess.
She looked at him a moment in amazement. Then:
“Msser Gonzaga,” she said at length, “I think that I begin to know you.”