which the food lay now unheeded.

"An easy thing, is it not, Francesco, to say to a man: this is wrong, and
that is wrong. But who is there, pray, to set it right for me?"

"That, if you will say but the word, I will attempt to do."

"You?" cried the Duke, and far from manifesting satisfaction at having
one offer himself to undertake to right this very crooked business, Gian
Maria's face reflected an incredulous anger and some little scorn. "And
how, my marvellous cousin, would you set about it?" he inquired, a sneer
lurking in his tone.

"I would place such matters as the levying of money by taxation in the
hands of Messer Despuglio, and at whatever sacrifice to your own
extravagance, I would see that for months to come the bulk of these
moneys is applied to the levying and arming of suitable men. I have some
skill as a condottiero--leastways, so more than one foreign prince has
been forced to acknowledge. I will lead your army when I have raised it,
and I will enter into alliances for you with our neighbouring States,
who, seeing us armed, will deem us a power worthy of their alliance. And
so, what man can do to stem the impending flood of this invasion, that
will I do to defend your Duchy. Make me your gonfalonier, and in a month
I will tell you whether it lies in my power or not to save your State."

The eyes of Gian Maria had narrowed more and more whilst Francesco spoke,
and into his shallow face had crept an evil, suspicious look. As the
Count ceased, he gave vent to a subdued laugh, bitter with mockery.

"Make you my gonfalonier?" he muttered, in consummate amusement. "And