"I have passed my word to the Duke, and your marriage shall take place so soon as he returns.

Now go.

Such scenes as these are wearisome to a sick man, and they are undignified." "But, your Highness," she began, an imploring note now taking the place that lately had been held by defiance.
"Go!" he blazed, stamping his foot, and then to save his dignity--for he feared that she might still remain--he himself turned on his heel and passed from the apartment.
Left to herself, she stood there a moment, allowed a sigh to escape her, and brushed an angry tear from her brown eyes.

Then, with a sudden movement that seemed to imply suppression of her mood, she walked to the door by which she entered, and left the chamber.
She went down the long gallery, whose walls glowed with the new frescoes from the wonder-working brush of Andrea Mantegna; she crossed her ante-chamber and gained the very room where some hours ago she had received the insult of Gian Maria's odious advances.

She passed through the now empty room, and stepped out on to the terrace that overlooked the paradise-like gardens of the Palace.
Close by the fountain stood a white marble seat, over which, earlier that day, one of her women had thrown a cloak of crimson velvet.