But let us regard her only in the present. See how her eye sparkles, how her lip wreaths itself in smiles, and how the joyous laugh breaks forth clear, and sweet, and musical, finding expression not only in its own melodious tones, but in every feature--aye, and even in the colour that rises in a gay bashfulness, and spreads suddenly over cheek and brow, as if a ray of morning sunshine had found its way through the green branches and lighted up her face. And then all is still again--still, and quiet, and thoughtful--and her eyes bend down and the long lashes kiss her cheek--and the rose has faded away--and the clear skin is paler than before, till something from one or the other of her gay companions awakens merriment again, and then she changes once more with the sudden change of mountain skies. But see! they are talking of more serious matters now. "Not enter Milan!" cries Leonora; "not enter beautiful Milan! Signor Lorenzo, how is that? Have you lost all love and pride in your own fair country?" "I must not enter Milan," he answered with a sigh; "but if I might, Leonora, I could not." "But why--why?" she asked eagerly; "are you one of the exiles? Oh, if that is so, the princess loves me well, and besides, when you come with the King of France, a guest of Count Ludovic, the past must be forgotten in the present, and you be welcomed too. Oh, do not say you will not come." She spoke eagerly, and then cast down her eyes, for his met hers with a look too full of admiration to be mistaken. "Do not ask him--do not ask him," said sweet Bianca Maria di Rovera; "he is going to my grandfather's villa till the king marches on. That is already settled, Leonora." "And you never told me, when your grandfather engaged us to go there too," said Leonora; "but how will the King of France be pleased?" "He has given permission," answered Lorenzo; "he understands well that the son of Carlo Visconti could only enter Milan in one manner." The young girl bent her head, and only answered, in a low tone, "I would fain hear more. It seems to me a strange arrangement." "You shall hear all, at some other time and place, Signora Leonora," replied Lorenzo: "every minute I expect the trumpets to sound to horse; and my tale, which is a sad one, should have some quiet spot for the telling, and evening skies, and few listeners near." The listeners, indeed, were, or might be, too many in a place where all was suspicion and much was danger. Every instant some one was passing near them--either one of the pastoral gentry who had waited for the meeting of the two courts, or some one from the suites of the two princes.