"'Tis no matter what I know--I will not pass them," cried Visconti, fiercely, and clutched at the rough wall as if to keep himself from being made to enter them even by force. Giacomo looked into the chamber curiously; the lantern showed only parts of it, and that dimly--an empty audience chamber, stiff chairs against the wall, the couch, dust on the floor and shadows in the arras--nothing more; and Carrara turned impatiently. "I risk my life for this," he said. "What do you think it will mean, Visconti, if I am found helping you escape?" He stepped across the threshold, and flashed the lantern around. "Nothing!" he laughed over his shoulder. "Nothing," but as he advanced he paused a moment, and lifted up a corner of the dragged coverlet, "save that this coverlet is riddled as if with dagger-thrusts," he added, "and the floor seems stained"--he sank his voice--"with blood." He looked back at Visconti, standing in the doorway, and with a sudden fear of him his hand sought his sword. "Whom did you murder here, Visconti?" he asked, awestruck. "Whoever it was," he added presently, "I would not lose my life for fear of them, seeing they are dead." In a second Visconti was by his side, gripping his arm, and Carrara, startled, shrank, and kept his hand upon his dagger. "I do not fear them," whispered Visconti, in his ear. "Nor you." And he hurried across the chamber, Carrara at his heels. Room after room they traversed, deserted, gloomy, and unopened since that night. "Hurry!" breathed Visconti. "Shall we never see the blessed sky again?" And snatching the keys, he pushed on, taking every door and turning with a certainty that showed he knew them well. "At last!" he cried, as they stepped out into the air. They were at the back of the castle, on a ledge overhung with ivy, and overlooking a narrow flight of steps, the masonry half-ruined and overgrown with flowers. The storm was over, a few great clouds tore across the sky, but the moon was clear and serene, the night calm and peaceful. The cool air blew around Visconti's damp hair, and stirred the dark ivy leaves, glistening with the rain. Beneath them lay the tents, a large body of men, half the army, silently and swiftly preparing for flight. "Some have gone already," said Giacomo. "These wait for me and you, Visconti: come," and stepping past him he led the way. There was no one to observe them save Giacomo's men, that he had been careful to station there; but when they had gained the bottom, and Carrara would have passed on, Visconti caught at his sleeve and drew him behind a clump of elder. "The German!" he whispered, and they waited, breathless. A soft voice was gayly singing, and the words of the song came clearly through the night. "Heinrich was my bosom friend, White feather and purple cloak: Now that folly's at an end, His the flame and mine the smoke!" "He comes this way," said Carrara. "If he takes to questioning where I am----"