'Gian—I have never asked anything mof thee before. Gian—this marriage is hateful to me—' she paused, then stepped forward with appealing eyes. 'Gian—have consideration—have mercy!'

'The Duke of Orleans waits,' smiled Visconti. 'Will you not let me lead you to him?'

Valentine drew back and steadied herself against the wall.

She thought of Conrad with bitterness and shame, of his vows of devotion, how he had sworn she should never wed the French prince—and—he was free—had been so for many days, and never a word or a sign.

Visconti flung wide the chapel door, and in the adjoining room he summoned to her side his sister's page. Valentine's eyes fell on him, and she noted how the blood rushed to his face as he sprang to obey. He was a fair-haired boy with eager eyes, who worshipped her with a romantic devotion at which she had often smiled; but now—

He lifted her train, and Visconti held out his hand. Outside her doors soldiers kept their motionless guard, and beyond the gay crowd swept to and fro. Silently Valentine moved forward, but her heart was burning with rebellious hate.

'I will still try once more for freedom,' was the thought she held to; and as they traversed the great corridor and her eyes fell, as had her brother's, on the grim outline of Isotta's prison, 'I will free her too,' she added, with a swelling heart.

And Visconti thought her conquered, cowed into complete submission, and watched her pass ahead of him down the banqueting chamber with a satisfied smile to see her the fairest and the proudest there.

The brilliant courtiers streamed in, a mass of colour and jewels, and Visconti, seated at the head of the table, glanced at the effeminate faces and frivolous bearing of the guests with some contempt.

'No news?' he whispered to Giannotto behind his chair. 'No news from Ferrara yet?'

'None as yet, my lord. The messengers are expected at any moment.'

The apartment was a blaze of wax candles that threw a thousand dancing reflections on the elaborate silver and glass that covered the table.

The bright light fell too on the rubies on Valentine Visconti's throat. She sat at her brother's side, with a pale face And sparkling eyes. On Visconti's right was her bridegroom, the Duke of Orleans, an elegant young man with weak eyes and a receding chin. His scanty, fair locks were carefully arranged with grease and curling irons into stiff curls, the ends of his moustache were elaborately twisted, and his face was rouged plentifully on the cheeks.

Valentine looked at him once, then ignoring him utterly, she looked down the long, glittering table to the great entrance facing her, with a crowd and press of liveries and hurrying attendants, waiting pages. As for the French duke, he conversed with Visconti, ignoring the hardly hidden contempt that he was either too dull to see or too politic to resent.

The banqueting hall filled: and the guests in their seats, the secretary, standing back among the servitors, crept out into the antechamber. After the glare and splendour of the banquet, the room seemed dull and sombre, and Giannotto stumbled over a crouching figure.

It was Valentine's page, weeping bitterly.

'Poor fool!' muttered the secretary. Wouldst thou lose thy place as well as thy heart?' And he passed on with a laugh. But after a pace or two he paused. Through the palace windows floated a sound as of distant murmuring and commotion, yet so faint he could scarce be sure of it.

The page had risen, shamefaced at having been discovered. He was very young, and his grief very real to him. He choked a little, stifling his sobs.

'Silence!' said Giannotto angrily. 'Listen!' The sound grew nearer and more distinct, and the secretary went to the window nearest and leaned forward eagerly.

Several horsemen and soldiers came riding swiftly, holding flaming torches; windows were flung open, people hurried to and fro.

'Some evil news has got abroad,' said Giannotto, straining eyes and ears.

And now the noise of angry shouts and frightened cries became too plain, and the secretary could see by the flare of some horsemen's torches, a throng of country folk, laden with their possessions, and some men driving herds of cattle, and soldiers torn and dusty.

'Evil news, indeed, I fear,' he muttered, and waited anxiously.

A ray of brilliant light from the banqueting hall beyond fell between the curtains and streamed across the room, there was laughter and clink of glasses, and a voice singing in French to a lute. The page clenched his fists and turned to go.

'Stay,' said Giannotto, 'stay. If thou wouldst end thy days, here comes a chance, methinks, for someone will have to carry ill news to Visconti.' And even as he spoke a white-faced servant entered.

'My lord,' he cried, as Giannotto stepped before him, 'there has been some sore disaster—the country folk are trooping through the gates—there is a panic in the city.'

'The messengers!' cried Giannotto, 'the messengers!'

'The messengers have not returned—but there are plenty bringing news who were not sent for it, my lord.' And as the man spoke, a disordered group, soldiers and servants, pressed into the room behind him.

'Gently, my friends,' said Giannotto, checking their agitated outcry and pointing to the curtains that hid the banqueting hall. 'The Duke—'

A man, dusty and white-faced, forced himself out of the crowd, small, but swelling every moment.

'I bear the news the Duke must hear,' he said, 'and quickly.' Where hast thou come from?' asked the secretary. 'What is thy news?'

'Since daybreak I have been flying for my life—I am a servant in the garrison at Brescia—it is destroyed,' gasped the man.

'Brescia!' The echo of horror. 'Has Brescia fallen?'

'Aye, fallen—into della Scala's hands.'

Giannotto looked around bewildered, incredulous.

'Della Scala at Brescia?' he said. 'You dream!'

But the room was filled now with a white-faced crowd that would not be kept back, and from every side echoed the evil tidings.

'Brescia—at dawn today della Scala whirled down on us, flushed with victory—and in two hours the town fell.'

'And Visconti thinks him idle at the d'Este's court!' broke from Giannotto.

The crowd filled the chamber with the whisper of dismay and horror, but from the banqueting room still came the song and the laughter—Visconti was in blissful ignorance of evil. Who could tell him? Who would dare?

Well Giannotto knew the fall of Brescia could be only the last of a series of incredible disasters; so swift as to seem miraculous. Victory after victory must have fallen to della Scala before he could have marched on and taken a place so near Milan; victories following too fast on one another to have reached Visconti before their culmination. The news indeed was terrible!

Who would enter the banqueting hall?

All shrank.

''Tis almost certain death,' they muttered, and Giannotto smiled.

'The Duke carries deadly weapons'

As he spoke the curtains were pulled aside for a moment as one of the serving men stepped out, and Giannotto, bending eagerly forward, caught a glimpse of two faces at the far end of the brilliant table.

Visconti's, laughing, triumphant, insolently handsome, and Valentine's, set and white, with dangerous eyes.

The curtains fell to again, but Giannotto had a thought.