"I will hear the man myself." He bowed submissively, and then his eye moved to Francesco.
"We might arrange with him for the safe-conduct of this gentleman," he suggested.
"There is no hope they would accord it," she answered easily.

"Nor could I hope so if they would, for Messer Francesco has consented to fill the office of Provost of Roccaleone.

But we are keeping the messenger waiting.

Sirs, will you attend me to the ramparts ?" They bowed, and followed her, Gonzaga coming last, his tread heavy as a drunkard's, his face white to the lips in the bitter rage with which he saw himself superseded, and read his answer to the hot words that last night he had whispered in Valentina's ear.
As they crossed the courtyard Francesco discharged the first act of his new office in ordering a half-dozen men-at-arms to fall in behind them, to the end that they might make some show upon the wall when they came to parley with the herald.
They found a tall man on a tall, grey horse, whose polished helm shone like silver in the morning sun, and whose haubergeon was almost hidden under a crimson tabard ornamented with the Sforza lion.

He bowed low as Valentina appeared, followed by her escort, foremost in which stood the Count of Aquila, his broad castor pulled down upon his brow, so that it left his face in shadow.
"In the name of my master, the High and Mighty Lord Gian Maria Sforza, Duke of Babbiano, I call upon you to yield, lady, laying down your arms and throwing open your gates." There followed a pause, at the end of which she asked him was that the sum of his message, or was there something that he had forgotten.
The herald, bowing gracefully upon the arched neck of his caracoling palfrey, answered her that what he had said was all he had been bidden say.
She turned with a bewildered and rather helpless look to those behind her.