He stalked past them unmoved, taking their measure as he went, and estimating their true value with the unerring eye of the practised condottiero who has had to do with the enrolling of men and the handling of them.

So little did he like their looks that on the threshold of the hall he paused and stayed Gonzaga.
"I am loath to leave my servant at the mercy of those ruffians, sir.

May I beg that you will warn them against offering him violence ?" "Ruffians ?" cried the lady angrily, before Gonzaga could offer a reply.
"They are my soldiers." Again he bowed, and there was a cold politeness in the tones in which he answered her: "I crave your pardon, and I will say no more--unless it be to deplore that I may not felicitate you on your choice." It was Gonzaga's turn to wax angry, for the choice had been his.
"Your message will have need to be a weighty one, sir, to earn our patience for your impertinence." Francesco returned the look of those blue eyes which vainly sought to flash ferociously, and he made little attempt to keep his scorn from showing in his glance.

He permitted himself even to shrug his shoulders a trifle impatiently.
"Indeed, indeed, I think that I had best begone," he answered regretfully, "for it is a place whose inmates seem all bent on quarrelling with me.

First your captain Fortemani greets me with an insolence hard to leave unpunished.