You, yourself, Madonna, resent that I should crave protection for my man against those fellows whose looks give rise for my solicitation.

You are angry that I should dub them ruffians, as if I had followed the calling of arms these ten years without acquiring knowledge of the quality of a man however much you may disguise him.

And lastly, to crown all, this cicisbeo"-- and he spread a hand contemptuously towards Gonzaga--"speaks of my impertinences." "Madonna," cried Gonzaga, "I beg that you will let me deal with him." Unwittingly, unwillingly, Gonzaga saved the situation by that prayer.
The anger that was fast rising in Madonna's heart, stirred by the proud bearing of the Count, was scattered before the unconscious humour of her captain's appeal, in such ludicrous contrast was his mincing speech and slender figure with Francesco's firm tones and lean, active height.
She did not laugh, for that would have been to have spoilt all, but she looked from one to the other with quiet relish, noting the glance of surprise and raised eyebrows with which the Count received the courtier's request to be let deal with him.

And thus, being turned from anger, the balance of her mind was quick to adjust itself, and she bethought her that perhaps there was reason in what this knight advanced, and that his reception had lacked the courtesy that was his due.

In a moment, with incomparable grace and skill, she had soothed Gonzaga's ruffled vanity, and appeased the Count's more sturdy resentment.
"And now, Messer Francesco," she concluded, "let us be friends, and let me hear your business.