'A royal number,' put in Conrad, but della Scala turned on them in fury.

'No!' he cried. 'Not fifty nor a hundred thousand men, to make sport for Visconti's leisure hours—Visconti who holds nine towns of mine alone, Visconti who is leagued with France and has the Empire at his heels, Visconti who has gained Bergamo, Lodi, and Bologna and has half the mercenaries of Italy in his pay! No, d'Este, I have been too great for that. Since you so forget what I have been, and who my wife is—I will leave thee, nor trouble thy peace for men thou canst not give ungrudgingly. And thou, Carrara, I will leave thee—in thy blind folly, to wait for Visconti's eye to fall on thee; all thy prudence will not save thee then. Meanwhile, I will try in the towns of Tuscany if there be men left in Italy to face a tyrant!'

They sat silent beneath his wrath, and he turned to go, but paused and looked back to them with a glance they could not meet.

'Only hear this before I go,' he said passionately; 'there is one thing thy faint-heartedness shall not touch, one thing I will achieve without thy aid, though thy meanness leaves me, and that is, at any cost, the freedom'—his voice trembled—'of Isotta, my wife. I will free her,' he continued sternly. 'Before you all I mean it; she shall be saved, even if mine honour goes to do it.'

And he turned away, but Count Conrad rose, roused out of himself by the excitement Mastino had inspired.

'I will follow thee,' he cried.

'What wouldst thou have, Mastino?' cried Ippolito after him, half-distraught. 'What wouldst thou have?'

Della Scala turned in the middle of the chamber, magnificent in his wrath and pain. 'All,' he said proudly. 'All thou canst give, and above all, thy trust. I am no boy to be put off with a few soldiers. I need Modena, Ferrara, Padua, every town of Lombardy that is in thy hands; all thy money, all thy troops, everything thou canst give—and then I will crush Visconti. When I fell it was through most foul treachery. I will league with no half-hearted friends again.'

And again he turned to leave, this time Conrad at his heels, when a soft voice arrested him, Julia Gonzaga's.

'I have this to say before thou leavest us, della Scala,' she said. 'All I have, Mantua and its lands, is at thy disposal, and I am proud so great a captain as my lord of Verona should command my men'

Mastino turned, his eyes sparkling with joy.

'My greatest thanks for thy gift, lady,' he said, 'and still more for the gracious manner of thy giving.' And before he could say more Vincenzo rose impulsively.

'Shall we be outdone by a woman!' he cried, his beautiful face flushed. 'It goes not with our honour, Father, we should leave Mantua to fight Visconti!'

Ippolito no less was roused.

He stepped toward Mastino and held out his hand.

'I ask thy pardon for too much wariness,' he said with a faint smile. 'I am as proud now as ever of my relationship to thee, and everything within my hands is thine to use as thou wilt against Visconti.' Mastino grasped his hand convulsively.

'Thou shalt not repent it,' he said, his generous soul melting at once. 'While I live thou shalt not repent.'

Meanwhile Giacomo Carrara's prudent brain had rapidly concluded it would be most to his advantage, at least for the moment, to side openly with della Scala, even in this wholesale fashion.

'I too am of the same mind,' he said pleasantly and frankly. 'All I have is thine, della Scala.'

'Then in a few days I will march on Verona!' cried Mastino, 'and with thy generous aid I shall recover it! My heart is too full. I cannot speak my thanks,' he continued, 'but by my honour and my sword I swear, thou, d'Este, thou, Carrara, and thou, lady, you shall never regret your trust in me'

 

Chapter 12. — Graziosa's Lover

In the courtyard of the painter Agnolo's house in Milan, the sunshine fell strong and golden, sparkling on the fountain that rose in the centre from its rough stone basin, and throwing the waxen blossoms of the chestnut into brilliant relief against the sapphire sky.

The courtyard was of stone. Around three sides ran the wall, one with its door into the street; opposite was a large garden, entered by an archway, the wicket in which stood always ajar.

The fourth side of the quadrangle was formed by the dwelling-house, which stood with its back to the ivied walls, itself a long, low building, the upper half of which, jutting above the lower, was supported on pillars of carved stone.

Around the bottom wall ran a wide border of plants, some climbing, others heavy with brilliant blossoms, trailing along the ground, and in the cool, blue shadows in the recess formed by the projecting storey were large pots of spreading ferns, vivid green, mingled with the spikes of bright scarlet flowers.

The basin of the fountain in the centre was velvet green with moss, and over the limpid water there spread the flat leaves of water-lilies. Above the wall rose the sweet-smelling chestnuts, spreading their fan-like foliage and snowy blossoms, tier upon tier, against the brilliant sky, and through the low arch, trellised with roses, the garden stretched, a bewildering mass of colour, white, mauve, yellow, pink, blue and red, into the soft distance, a swaying mass of trees. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were lengthening, as out of the house, the door of which stood open, came the little painter. He stepped into the, sunshine, mopping his face and shaking his clothes.

From head to foot he was a mass of green slime, his doublet torn, his hands scratched, his face hot and perspiring. After a few vain attempts to remove the dirt that clung to him, he looked around with a rueful countenance.

'Graziosa!' he called. 'Graziosa!'

The lattice of an upper window was thrown open, and Graziosa looked out.

At sight of her father she laughed. 'Hast thou been down thy passage again, Father?' she called from the window.

Agnolo made a wry face good-humouredly. 'That I have,' he returned, 'and fell into a pond at the other end'

'The other end!' echoed his daughter. 'Then you got through?'

Vistarnini rubbed his damaged hands together with satisfaction.