“FANFULLA DEGLI AROIPRETI.” [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]
CHAPTER XXII. A REVELATION
“Francesco,” said Valentina, and the name came from her lips as if it were an endearment, “why that frowning, careworn look?”
They were in the dining-room alone, where the others had left them, and they were still seated at the table at which they had supped. Francesco raised his dark, thoughtful eyes, and as they lighted now on Valentina the thoughtfulness that was in them gave place to tenderness.
“I am fretted by this lack of news,” he acknowledged. “I would I knew what is being done in Babbiano. I had thought that ere now Caesar Borgia had stirred Gian Maria's subjects into some manner of action. I would I knew!”
She rose, and coming close to him, she stood with one hand resting upon his shoulder, her eyes smiling down upon his upturned face.
“And shall such a trifle fret you—you who professed a week ago that you would this siege might last for ever?”
“Account me not fickle, anima mia,” he answered her, and he kissed the ivory fingers that rested on his shoulder. “For that was before the world changed for me at the magic of your bidding. And so,” he repeated, “I would I knew what is toward at Babbiano!”
“But why sigh over a wish so idle?” she exclaimed. “By what means can news reach you here of the happenings of the world without?”
He pondered a moment, seeking words in which to answer her. A score of times during that week had he been on the point of disclosing himself, of telling her who and what he was. Yet ever had he hesitated, putting off that disclosure until the season should appear more fitting. This he now considered the present. She trusted him, and there was no reason to remain silent longer. Perhaps already he had delayed too long, and so he was about to speak when she started from his side, and crossed hastily to the window, alarmed by the sound of approaching steps. A second later the door opened, and Gonzaga appeared.