“I begin to understand,” murmured Cappoccio, sagely wagging his head, and there was a shrewd insolence in his tone and manner. “When we leave Roccaleone you come with us?”
Gonzaga nodded.
“But why do you not say these things to Fortemani?” questioned Cappoccio, still doubting.
“Fortemani!” echoed Gonzaga. “By the Host, no! The man is bewitched by that plausible rogue, Francesco. Far from resenting the fellow's treatment of him, he follows and obeys his every word, like the mean-spirited dog that he is.”
Again Cappoccio sought to scrutinise Gonzaga's face. But the light was indifferent.
“Are you dealing with me fairly?” he asked. “Or does some deeper purpose lie under your wish that we should rebel against the lady?”
“My friend,” answered Gonzaga, “do you but wait until Gian Maria's herald comes for his answer in the morning. Then you will learn again the terms on which your lives are offered you. Do nothing until then. But when you hear yourselves threatened with the rope and the wheel, bethink you of what course you will be best advised in pursuing. You ask me what purpose inspires me. I have already told you—for I am as open as the daylight with you—that I am inspired by the purpose of saving my own neck. Is not that purpose enough?”
A laugh of such understanding as would have set a better man on fire with indignation was the answer he received.
“Why, yes, it is more than enough. To-morrow, then, my comrades and I march out of Roccaleone. Count upon that.”
“But do not accept my word. Wait until the herald comes again. Do nothing until you have heard the terms he brings.”