Is that your store ?" "If that is all there is in the armoury, that is all we have." Franceseo stood speechless, staring at him, a dull flush creeping into his cheeks.

In that moment of wrath he forgot their positions, and gave never a thought to the smarting that must be with Gonzaga at the loss of rank he had suffered since Valentina had appointed a provost.
"And are these your methods of fortifying Roccaleone ?" he asked, in a voice that cut like a knife.

"You have laid in good store of wine, a flock of sheep, and endless delicacies, sir," he jeered.

"Did you expect to pelt the enemy with these, or did you reckon upon no enemy at all ?" Now this question touched so closely upon the truth, that it fired in Gonzaga's bosom an anger that for the moment made a man of him.

It was the last breath that blew into a blaze the smouldering wrath he carried in his soul.
His retort came fierce and hot.