"Alas, my lord, not only Carrara, his captains too, as it appears, have all been bought." "Tell me no more," cried Mastino. "I am alone to blame. I cannot learn to deal with traitors." "As for Count Carrara, the wretched German," continued Ligozzi, "he has left the camp." As he spoke, Ligozzi glanced through the window at the tents. "He took no one with him, but, ordering his Germans to fight as one man to the death for you, he rode along the road to Milan." "Oh!" cried Mastino, with a great cry wrung from his soul. He rested his hand a moment on Ligozzi's shoulder. "I am well-nigh sick, Ligozzi," he said. "The empty-headed and the villain prosper, and I--and mine--go to the wall." Tomaso stole forward. Della Scala noticed him and turned kindly. "Something to tell me, sayest thou?" he asked. Tomaso's eyes were full of tears. For some moments he could not find his voice. "He hath discovered some secret passage; useless, I fear me," said his father. "Nay, father, I tell thee it leadeth to the city! To-day, lord, as I explored it, I found stored there some rolls of silk, new and clean; together with some earths such as I have heard say painters use." Della Scala started. He found the news not so unimportant as Ligozzi had. "Go on, Tomaso," he said, and kept his half-closed eyes upon the ground. "Indeed, my lord, it must be some old subway into Milan. 'Tis wide enough to admit six abreast, and recently used, as it opens some mile and a half outside the city. I have not yet penetrated to the extremity. Lord, think of it--it must open into Milan!" Della Scala's worn face flushed involuntarily, his eyes turned to the closed door of the chapel. Had he belied the stone angels--the extinguished lamps? "This seems great news, Tomaso," he said slowly. "I will see into it." He moved as he spoke. "My other gauntlet, Ligozzi?" "I cannot see it, lord." "Ah!" said Mastino suddenly. "I left it in the chapel!" Tomaso had already departed for the gauntlet. Mastino, following to the door, saw him stoop and lift it from the ground. Tomaso handed him the ponderous glove, and, as Mastino took it, he stifled the cry on his lips, and turned away to clasp it to his heart. For inside his glove, almost hidden in the velvet lining, lay a soft white rose: a sign from heaven. CHAPTER TWENTY IN THE DUKE'S ABSENCE "My chance has come," said Valentine. A day had passed since Visconti had ridden so wildly to the western gate, and as yet he had not returned. The soldiers, weary and wounded, had reeled that night into the palace courtyards, de Lana at their head, expecting to find Visconti there before them. They had missed him in the wild fray--the Germans had been driven back from the walls without their prisoners--had not the Duke returned? Neither then nor as yet, near a day after the sortie. Doubtless he, victorious as ever, was reconnoitering some stronghold of the enemy, or their encampments outside Milan.