Then she turned nervously, wondering how much he might have heard of what had passed between herself and Francesco, how much have seen.
"And yet, Gonzaga," she answered him, "I left you singing below when I came away." "-- To wanton it here in the moonlight with that damned swashbuckler, that brigand, that kennel-bred beast of a sbirro!" "Gonzaga! You would dare!" "Dare ?" he mocked her, beside himself with passion.

"Is it you who speak of daring--you, the niece of Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, a lady of the noble and illustrious house of Rovere, who cast yourself into the arms of a low-born vassal such as that, a masnadiero, a bandit, a bravo?
And can you yet speak of daring, and take that tone with me, when shame should strike you either dead or dumb ?" "Gonzaga," she answered him, her face as white as his own, but her voice steady and hard with anger, "leave me now--upon the instant, or I will have you flogged--flogged to the bone." A moment he stared at her like a man dazed.

Then he tossed his arms to Heaven, and letting them fall heavily to his sides, he shrugged his shoulders and laughed evilly.

But of going he made no shift.
"Call your men," he answered her, in a choking voice.

"Do your will on me.