'Leave it to me, good friends,' he said, and passed into the hall. 'The Lady Valentine shall give the news!' That was the secretary's inspiration. 'The Duke dare not touch her, and it will be a pleasure to her that she may reward' And the crowd, gathering in the anteroom, waited, bewildered and terrified, to hear the blow had fallen.

'They will stop their song and jest,' said the man from Brescia, 'let the Duke once know—' The entry of another, panting and torn, interrupted him.

'Heaven save Milan!' he gasped. 'Verona has fallen.'

The shouts and clatter from the courtyard had penetrated faintly to the banqueting hall, and Visconti paused a moment, listening.

Valentine listened too, and thought of Conrad.

But the noises died away, and Visconti turned to the Duke of Orleans with a laugh.

'My soldiers revel in your honour,' he said, 'and we will drink my sister's health, my lord.'

Valentine's breast heaved. Who was he, to dare to sacrifice her to his pride and greed? She would not suffer it. Was she not also a Visconti?

As in a dream she heard her health drunk; as in a dream she saw the Duke of Orleans' foolish look turned toward her in vacant admiration; then suddenly, with a start, she noticed Giannotto's crafty face. Valentine's eyes blazed with sudden purpose. She looked down toward the entrance, and saw, between the curtains, white faces peering and figures half-thrust forward.

'The Duke of Orleans!' cried Visconti, and the guests again rose. Valentine rose also, with inspired eyes and crimsoned cheeks.

The Duke of Orleans!' she cried, lifting her glass, and at the first words she had spoken they stood silent in an uneasy expectation. 'Will the Duke of Orleans wait, Visconti, while I give a still nobler toast?' Her voice rose triumphant. At her words, at the mad defiance of her bearing, Visconti stood amazed.

'Here is to the one who has taken Brescia and Verona, even from thee, Visconti; here is to the brave soldier who now marches on Milan—Mastino della Scala!'

And she raised her glass high, and then turned and flung it at Visconti's feet.

'The news is true,' she said, 'and now kill me for it.'

And with a stifled cry Visconti's hand was on his dagger, but Orleans flung himself upon him, and caught him by the wrists. Visconti glanced at him, and at the startled company, not grasping what had happened, and then the cry, begun no one knew where, went in a growing volume around the hall.

'Verona has fallen!'

It circled around the table, it passed from lip to lip, from the white-faced, surging crowd to the brilliant guests, and the company broke into confusion, and looked into one another's eyes with terror.

'Verona has fallen!'

'A lie!' thundered Visconti. 'A lie! My sister has gone mad. Who says the word again shall die!'

'My lord,' said Giannotto, 'listen.' And into the sudden hush within it came the wild hubbub of the panic-stricken city. 'Verona is fallen! Della Scala marches fast on Milan!'

 

Chapter 14. — The Tumult at the Western Gate

Mastino della Scala with his army lay at Serio, a hamlet boasting a small eminence crowned with a strongly built but insignificant castle. Some ten miles farther on Brescia was held by Julia Gonzaga's army. Only a few weeks had passed since della Scala, falling first on Verona and taking it, had marched on Milan and almost snatched it from Visconti's unsuspecting hold. But the alarm given at Valentine's wedding-feast had come in time. With almost superhuman energy, in two hours' time Visconti armed the walls and put the city in defence. To surprise a victory was impossible. Still, the Duke of Verona's army was only some fifteen miles from the walls, and day by day drew nearer.

Visconti, from the height of proud security, was suddenly, by one move, placed in a position dangerous indeed. The towns and domains behind Milan, from that city to Turin, were still his, as were Pavia and Piacenza, but from Brescia to Verona, and from Modena to Lombardy, save for a few scattered towns and forts held desperately by Visconti's men, the whole was in the hands of della Scala and his allies. Still Milan was not in a state of siege: men and supplies hurried in from Novara, Vercelli, and other towns in the Visconti's dominions, and powerful aid was coming to the Duke of Milan's assistance from the Empire.

Yet in Visconti's eyes this aid, needful as it was, was dearly bought, for Charles IV, though an ignoble ruler and laughed at by his subjects, was of an honourable, open disposition, and related by marriage to the Estes, and the one condition on which he was dispatching to Visconti's service his soldiers stationed in Switzerland and on the borders, was that Isotta d'Este should be untouched.

In the bitterness of his rage, Visconti wished he had already slain her; now, in truth, he dare not. It was no question now of gratifying an ambition, it was simple fear of losing his own throne, fear of being in his turn reduced to what he had reduced della Scala, that made him respect the wishes of the Empire, and the feeling of the French who thronged his court.

And the thought that he could not play the best card tyrant ever held was rendered doubly bitter by the fact that della Scala knew him to be helpless and Isotta safe.

Scheming in his crafty soul for means to outwit Mastino, Visconti thought of Giacomo Carrara, who held Padua, Treviso, Cremona, Vicenza. He was della Scala's ally, but a man of no upright soul.

'Could I gain him,' thought Visconti, in his musings, 'I could stand without the Empire, without France, and use my captive as I please and not as they dictate.'

To the Estes and Julia Gonzaga he gave no thought; well he knew they were not likely to desert Mastino—but Carrara—Meanwhile, he threw his whole strength against the opposing army, keeping it at bay, gaining time—and planning.

But Mastino della Scala's object was not to lose time in idle skirmishes. Brilliant success had fallen to his share, not one reverse had marred his short campaign and it is not the policy of the victor to dally with time, rather to seize the chances each day offers, while yet fortune smiles on him.

But well della Scala knew that neither honour, nor pity, nor shame, but fear alone, would restrain Gian Maria Visconti from venting his hatred on Isotta d'Este.

Still, he kept up a stout heart. Visconti dare not! To make assurance doubly sure, he used all his influence at the court of Rome to procure the aid of the Church against the Duke of Milan.

Many a time had he rendered powerful help to the Pope, and, as his present position stood, might do so yet again; and the result of his appeal was a grave embassy from the Pope to Visconti, threatening him with excommunication and the sword of the Church should he dare to touch Isotta d'Este.

For the first, Visconti cared little; twice had the Church thrown him out, and each time had he laughed at it and emerged triumphant; but now his position was more perilous than it had ever been since he mounted the throne of Milan, and he dare not treat this mandate of the Church as he had done 'the others. The Pope's temporal power too was great; were that once turned against him, even with the Empire's aid he could hardly stand; so Visconti answered them with fair words, pledging his honour for the Duchess of Verona's life.

One bright summer morning, Visconti sat at the open window of his palace, thinking.

At the other end of the room the Duke of Orleans and Tisio were playing at chess; between these two, during the Duke's enforced stay in Milan, a friendship had sprung up, and Visconti, weary of his foolish guest, was well pleased a foolish brother should take him off his hands.

The Frenchman was prepared at once to carry out the contract, marry Valentine, and depart for France, but this Visconti's pride would not permit. The Duke of Orleans had witnessed a reverse, he should behold a triumph.