Still, in the palace some were getting anxious; there was no word, no message. Who, in the Duke's absence, ruled Milan? The question suggested itself among others to Valentine Visconti. She put it to herself. "I rule Milan, and I will give myself my freedom by it, whether Gian be alive or dead, returning now or never." It was late afternoon, and Valentine had formed her plan; with courage and skill she made no doubt of success. To enter her brother's private room was the first step. All day Valentine had plotted some means of accomplishing this. The rooms were locked, and Gian wore the key around his neck. The Visconti palace was part old, part new; the great circular tower in which Isotta was confined, the low heavy stone buildings that surrounded it, were the only remaining portions of the ancient Gothic castle. The new building, bright in yellow and pink tiles, was supported on low, horseshoe arches, and gave straightly on the courtyard in front and the gardens at the rear--the whole encircled by a great wall. Detached from the palace, standing alone in the grounds, was a high, square brick tower, the highest building in Milan, and from the summit there floated night and day the banner of the Viper. Along the second story of the palace ran the open arcade or corridor, a wide and pleasant walk, paved with black and white stone, looking on the garden through the clustered columns that supported it, richly ornate with carvings. A private entrance to Visconti's rooms opened onto this corridor. The banqueting hall gave upon it also, and to Valentine Visconti, standing between the arches looking from the fair garden back to the closed doors, a thought occurred. In her wild intention to escape, she had only one ally, Adrian, her page, feeble and powerless at best, but devoted to her with an utter devotion that might be worth much. Valentine had confided in him, since she must have help, if only the help of speech; and now, of a sudden, his use appeared. She had withdrawn from the observation of her women and the court, in pretense of praying for her brother's safety, and no one was with her. "Adrian!" she called softly, "Adrian!" She had privately bidden him follow her, and well she knew he was not far away. The boy came forward eagerly. "Hush!" said Valentine. "Do not speak--listen--I have need of thee; wilt thou serve me even to the death, for it may be that?" "You know I do not heed death, lady," replied the page with glad pride. "Anything that may serve you will make me forever happy." "Follow me," said Valentine, and stepped on to the balcony. "Now walk behind, and as if I were not speaking to thee. There may be sharp eyes upon us in the garden." The sun, late as it was, fell between the pillars in strong bars of gold, and Valentine raised her ivory fan as if to shield her from the heat, but in reality to conceal the movement of her lips, in case there might be watchers.