“Well?” I demanded of Giojoso. “For what do you wait? About it, sir, and do as my mother has commanded you.”
He turned to her, all bent and grovelling, arms outstretched in ludicrous bewilderment, every line of him beseeching guidance along this path so suddenly grown thorny.
“Ma—madonna!” he stammered.
She swallowed hard, and spoke at last.
“Do you defy my will, Agostino?”
“On the contrary, madam mother, I am enforcing it. Your will shall be done; your order shall be given. I insist upon it. But it shall lie with the discretion of the grooms whether they obey you. Am I to blame if they turn cowards?”
O, I had found myself at last, and I was making a furious, joyous use of the discovery.
“That... that were to make a mock of me and my authority,” she protested. She was still rather helpless, rather breathless and confused, like one who has suddenly been hurled into cold water.
“If you fear that, madam, perhaps you had better countermand your order.”
“Is the girl to remain in Mondolfo against my wishes? Are you so... so lost to shame?” A returning note of warmth in her accents warned me that she was collecting herself to deal with the situation.