'In that case,' said della Torre, 'do nothing, and the rest may follow.' 'Devil take you, Antonio!' He caught up a hawk-lure from the table, and set himself to strip it as he talked, scattering the feathers about the room. 'Curb him, you say? Curb this damned thief of Lodi? How am I to curb him? The French lances are gone back to Boucicault. The parsimonious fathers of this miserly city were in haste to dismiss them. They think of nothing but ducats, may their souls perish! They think more of ducats than of their duke.' Inconsequently, peevishly, he ranted on, reducing the hawk-lure to rags the while, and showing the crafty della Torre his opportunity. 'Vignate,' he said at last, when the Duke ceased, 'can be in no great strength when all is reckoned. Facino's own condotta should fully suffice to whip him out of Alessandria and back to Lodi.' Gian Maria moved restlessly about the room. 'What if it should not? What if Facino should be broken by Vignate? What then? Vignate will be at the gates of Milan.' 'He might be if we could not prepare for the eventuality.' With a sudden curious eagerness Gian Maria glared at his mentor. 'Can we? In God's name, can we? If we could ...' He checked. But the sudden glow of hate and evil hope in his prominent pale eyes showed how he was rising to the bait. Della Torre judged the moment opportune. 'We can,' he answered firmly. 'How, man? How?' 'In alliance with Malatesta your highness would be strong enough to defy all comers.' 'Malatesta!' The Duke leapt as if stung. But instantly he curbed himself. The loose embryonic features tightened, reflecting the concentration of the embryonic wicked mind within. 'Malatesta, eh?' His tone was musing. He let himself drop once more into his broad armchair, and sat there, cross-legged, pondering. Della Torre moved softly to his side, and lowered his voice to an impressive note. 'Indeed, your highness should consider whether you will not in any event bring in Malatesta so soon as Facino has departed on this errand.' The handsome, profligate Lonate, lounging, a listener by the window, cleared up all ambiguity: 'And so make sure that this upstart does not return to trouble you again.' Gian Maria's head sank a little between his shoulders. Here was his chance to rid himself for all time of the tyrannical tutelage of that condottiero, made strong by popular support. 'You speak as if sure that Malatesta will come.' Della Torre put his cards on the table at last. 'I am. I have his word that he will accept a proposal of alliance from your highness.' 'You have his word!' The ever-ready suspicions of a weak mind were stirring. 'I took his feeling against the hour when your potency might need a friend.' 'And the price?' Della Torre spread his hands. 'Malatesta has ambitions for his daughter. If she were Duchess of Milan ...' 'Is that a condition?' The Duke's voice was sharp.