"That, sir," she answered him, "is the best news I have heard since your
coming." And without waiting for his reply, she stepped through the open
window on to the terrace.

For a second he hesitated, a sense of angry humiliation oppressing his
wits. Then he started to follow her; but as he reached the window the
little crook-backed figure of Ser Peppe stood suddenly before him with a
tinkle of bells, and a mocking grin illumining his face.

"Out of the way, fool," growled the angry Duke. But the odd figure in
its motley of red and black continued where it stood.

"If it is Madonna Valentina you seek," said he, "behold her yonder."

And Gian Maria, following the indication of Peppe's lean finger, saw that
she had rejoined her ladies and that thus his opportunity of speaking
with her was at an end. He turned his shoulder upon the jester, and
moved ponderously towards the door by which he had originally entered the
room. It had been well for Ser Peppe had he let him go. But the fool,
who loved his mistress dearly, and had many of the instincts of the
faithful dog, loving where she loved and hating where she hated, could
not repress the desire to send a gibe after the retreating figure, and
inflict another wound in that much wounded spirit.

"You find it a hard road to Madonna's heart, Magnificent," he called
after him. "Where your wisdom is blind be aided by the keen eyes of
folly."

The Duke stood still. A man more dignified would have left that
treacherous tongue unheeded. But Dignity and Gian Maria were strangers.