Conrad stood between his guards, with a flushed face and a proud bearing. He would have liked to kiss his hand to Valentine, stepping into her gorgeous litter, looking back with half-awakened eyes; but his hands were held firmly, and his feet lashed together.
"Well, Visconti," he said, with a still higher carriage of his head, "what is it this time--starvation or the rack?"
Visconti made no answer: he was looking down at the flowers on the steps.
"Take those away," he said to a page, and pointed to a spray of white roses.
The boy obeyed, and glanced at his companions, wondering.
"Saint Hubert!" cried Conrad, with a sudden laugh. "You are full of whims as of old! How long must I wait for my death, at your good pleasure, my lord?"
"You are strangely foolish," he said, and hesitated, looking at Conrad with a moody face.
"Foolish indeed, or I had never been Visconti's friend!" retorted Conrad. "Foolish--or I had never trusted to this friendship. But call me also bold, my lord, to be here now, buying with my life the pleasure of saying so!"
"The impudent German!" murmured a lady in Visconti's ear. "Heaven has given your lordship even this--to crown your perfect triumph."
The Duke was still silent: he looked from Conrad to the crowd, shouting, throwing up their hats to see the procession pass, and then to the soldiers, wondering at this strange hesitation.
"Why did you come to Milan?" he asked at last, fingering the gold tassels on his sleeve, and speaking slowly.
"To save your unhappy sister," cried Conrad. "To try and kill you, Visconti!" And he struggled fiercely in the grip of his captors.
"Take him away," said Visconti. "Take him----" He paused a moment.
"No--outside the gates. Give him a safe-conduct that will take him out of my soldiers' lines. And so farewell, Count Conrad; I can waste no more time on you."
"I will not go!" shrieked Conrad furiously. "I will not have your mercy, Visconti--I will not accept from you my life!"
"I say I will die!" cried Conrad after him. "Do you quail at another murder, Visconti? Dare you not kill one more?"
"I owe you somewhat, Count. You may remember a certain game of chess you played in Della Scala's camp. It served me well--it saved my life--and gave me--Della Scala. Now take yours--as a most unequal recompense."