Giannotto shrank back at Visconti's outburst, and made no answer.
But the Duke had forgotten him. He was but uttering his thoughts aloud.
"Five years ago," he said exultingly, "I rode outside the gates of Verona and challenged Della Scala to single combat. He sent his lackey out with a refusal, and in my heart I said: 'I will bring that man so low that life shall hold nothing so sweet to him as the thought of meeting me in single fight!' I have succeeded! Isotta d'Este looked past me and laughed, and I said, 'She shall live to feel her life within my hand.' In that also I have succeeded!
"And three years ago, only three years ago, I stood within this very room, four lives between me and the throne of Milan--four lives, all crafty--and two young. But I--I the youngest, took my fate and theirs into my hand. I said: 'It is for me to reign in Milan--I am the Duke.' In that I have succeeded!"
He paused, with dilating eyes and parted lips, intoxicated with pride.
"This ambition is his madness," thought Giannotto; but he still was silent.
"In another thing," continued Visconti, and his voice was changed: he breathed softly, and his eyes sparkled pleasantly. "Last May-day I saw the people in the fields, pulling flowers; I knew they were what poets call happy. Among them were two girls, one dark, one fair, and she with the dark hair had her betrothed beside her. They were happy among the happy, they loved each other--and I rode unseen. The may was thick and white, I watched them through the flowers and vowed: I too will be happy, even as they are happy, though I am Visconti; I will be loved for myself alone; that fair-haired girl shall care for me as her companion for her lover,--life shall give me that as well!"
And he rose, triumphant, smiling, resting his hand on the arras that hid the door behind him.
Lifting the arras, he paused again, and looked back with a smile that transformed his face.
"In that too have I succeeded!" he said melodiously; and, opening the narrow door, he was gone, as always, noiselessly.
"Why does he unburden his soul to me?" he murmured. "Does he think, because I sit silent, I have no ears, no memory--that I shall forget? 'In that too have I succeeded!' Aye, thou hast it all thine own way, Visconti, so far."