Valentine should leave Italy as befitted his sister, not fly from it as a fugitive; and the French prince, who in a few weeks had yielded to Gian's influence and learned both to fear and obey Visconti, assented meekly to delay, and whiled away the time as best he might.

Visconti sat so motionless and silent that the chess-players were forgetful of his presence, and their voices rose high.

'My move,' said Tisio gleefully. 'See, the rook takes your knight.'

'Your rook could take my kight,' returned Orleans, 'if it were your move, but as it is mine—'

'You are not watching the game,' was the angry rejoinder.

'Your pardon, my move,' said the Frenchman calmly, and, with a smile on his vacant face, he swept up one of Tisio's men.

'My move—and—mate, M'sieu.'

With a cry of childish rage, Tisio snatched at the board, spilling the men on to the floor.

'I love not to play with you,' he cried. 'I would Count Conrad were here, he was the one to play with.'

Orleans laughed.

'Because he always let you win, M'sieu?' he said.

Tisio began to whimper with annoyance, calling loudly on Valentine.

Visconti, aroused, drew the curtains aside, and stepped forward.

Orleans was, at his appearance, a little flurried. It was impossible for his weak brain to meet those eyes and not feel flurried.

'Tisio and I are fallen out again,' he said feebly.

Visconti looked at him coldly.

'I would remind you, my lord, Tisio, though an infant, is my brother.'

'Gian!' cried Tisio, suddenly noticing him. 'Gian, it was my move!'

'Whether it was thy move or no, it does not please me thou shouldst be annoyed—remember it, my Lord Duke'; and he turned into his inner room. As he closed the door, his long brooding showed in his face. It was lined and anxious. The position was a dizzy one: a perilous one: his dark dress concealed the gleam of chain armour.

His enemies were many, and some powerful, and Visconti took no chances.

At his side hung a dagger, long and sharp, and his fingers were often on the hilt in readiness. At his old place sat Giannotto. 'I have decided,' said Visconti. 'I will attempt Carrara.'

'You think he is to be bought, my lord?'

'I think he is to be bought,' responded Visconti. 'At any rate we will try. He and his force are with della Scala?'

'And fifteen miles outside our walls,' said Giannotto; then at the look on the Duke's face, he was sorry he had spoken, and shrank together.

'Read what is on the parchment,' said Visconti; and the secretary, glad to have been let off so easily, unwrapped the roll. Therein Visconti's bribe was plainly set forth:

The town of Cologna, near to Padua, and well fortified, the protection and close alliance of Milan, and the service of ten thousand trained mercenaries, together with the right to trade free of toll in Visconti's dominions—

'And a pair of turquoise gloves,' added Visconti, with a change of tone.

Giannotto glanced up.

'Are they not worth three hundred ducats?' said Visconti, smiling. 'Did not the Pope and Emperor both wish to buy them, and fail?'

Giannotto bowed his head over again and studied the scrip in silence.

Visconti watched him keenly.

He thought, 'I know he would betray me for a ducat—if I were not Visconti.'

He turned to the narrow window, and looked out on to the city spreading beneath him.

'The Empire,' he muttered to himself. 'The Empire and the French—I will awe them and humour them while I must—but let me once gain Carrara—as I shall—I can dispense with them and deal with della Scala as I list.'

He turned from the window to Giannotto, and his face had lost its lines.

'Well?' he asked. 'What think you?'

'This is a master-stroke of temptation, my lord. You have always found craft a good servant.'

'It would not serve me well in thee,' said Visconti with a sudden glance. Now, see to it that parchment is dispatched, Giannotto, by a trusty messenger, and with no delay.'

'I will give it to Ricardo with my own hands, my lord,' said Giannotto. 'He is the best man we have since Filippo was wounded this morning in a skirmish by the western gate.

'The western gate?' Visconti looked up quickly.

'It was not worth while bringing to your notice, my lord. A band of the enemy's soldiers have been skirmishing there.'

'They were beaten off without harm to anyone within the gates?'

'The gates were not forced, nor anyone injured—or I should have acquainted you, my lord,' and he waited for possibly some mark of appreciation; but the Duke motioned curtly to the roll he held, and Giannotto crept out with bowed shoulders. As the tapestry fell into place behind him, Visconti approached the black bureau between the windows, and unlocked one of the long drawers.

In its dusky recess lay a gold box, and Visconti took it out, handling it carefully.

The light fell in a straight shaft from the narrow window on the delicate chasing of the casket as Visconti placed it on the table, and as he turned the key and the lid flew back, it gleamed on the emeralds and diamonds of an elaborate coronet, exquisitely enamelled and pointed.

Every inch was covered with precious stones: each point tapering into delicate tracery of gold, as fine as lace.

Visconti drew a chair to the table, and leaned back in it, his eyes upon the jewels; so absorbed was he, he did not heed the opening door nor Tisio's entrance.

And Tisio scarcely saw his brother, for joy at the little coronet, so brilliant in the sun's straight ray.

'How dost thou come here, Tisio?' asked his brother, startled; but at sight of Tisio's vacant, foolish face, he sank back, and noticing his joy, he smiled—for Tisio was crazed, and remembered nothing of even the things that gave him pleasure. 'Dost thou like it?' he continued, gratified at the delight in his brother's eyes. 'Thy taste in goldsmiths' work is good, Tisio.'

''Tis beautiful, Gian, wondrous beautiful cried Tisio in rapt admiration.

'I bought it with the price of half a city,' said Gian. 'And hold it cheap,'

The words had no meaning for Tisio, as his brother knew: he only voiced his own pride in the lovely bauble.

'And wilt thou wear it?' asked Tisio.

The Duke laughed good-humouredly.

'Not Tisio; still soon—when della Scala's crushed—thou shalt see it worn by someone—someone whose face will outshine these stones, Tisio.'

'Whose will it be?' asked his brother childishly.

'A lady, Tisio; and when this coronet is on her head, she will be Visconti's wife and the Duchess of Milan!'

He paused on the word, and looked at Tisio; but there was no wonder in his brother's eyes, his gaze held by the flashing stones.

'Now, by Saint Mark!' cried Visconti suddenly. 'This is no time to be maundering with a toy and an idiot.'

He put the little coronet back and locked the casket.

'How comest thou to be alone, Tisio? Where is thy page?'

As he spoke he returned the casket to the bureau. Tisio, in eager curiosity, looked over his shoulders into the open drawer. There lay the turquoise-coloured gloves.

'Oh!' cried Tisio joyously. 'The beautiful, beautiful gloves!' And before Gian could stop him, he had caught them up. Visconti snatched them from him; at the same moment came a clamouring upon the door.