Adrian leaned forward and struck the glass a violent blow with the handle of his dagger; it was hard, and resisted, but at a second blow shivered. The page tore away the metal framework, and slipping his arm through, thrust back the first bolt. But it was fastened in three places, and the other two were not so easy. Straining up to his full height, the page forced half his body through the broken window and succeeded in slipping back the second bolt; the third was almost at the bottom of the tall door, nor was the opening he had forced large enough for him to do more than admit his arm and shoulder through. He still held his dagger in his hand, and grasping at it at the end of the blade, struck violently downward at the bolt head with the handle. It did not move the first time, nor the second, nor the third; but at the fourth blow it suddenly shot back and the door was open. Adrian struggled through the window, backward, on to his feet, his hand and arm torn in several places, dizzy with the strain. Valentine turned with a glad cry. "Now stand thou in the archway," she said; "and close the door behind me and keep watch; our one need is haste!" The page pushed the despoiled door open and Valentine sped through, closing it carefully after her; the broken window would not be noticed from the garden, but an open door might. The space she entered seemed so dark after the bright glare outside that at first she could gather nothing. But soon the light sufficed to show Valentine this was not the room she wanted. It was gorgeously decorated, frescoes covered the walls, the ceiling was richly gilt and painted, the floor glass mosaic, the furniture florid and ornate. Valentine glanced around hurriedly: at one end was a door, and trying it, found it open easily, leading into another splendid apartment--still not containing what she sought. Hastening on through a door, not only unlocked, but standing ajar, she found herself in a small, somber room, hung with purple and gold; its principal furniture the secretary's table, Visconti's chair, and the imposing black carved bureau. This was the room she wanted; and on the bureau, flung down in haste, a bunch of keys. Valentine seized them with trembling hands; they were the keys of the drawers, and one by one she flung them open, so possessed with excitement she could hardly stand. Gian was not in the palace, yet she seemed to feel his eyes upon her; to hear his step; catch his low whisper of her name; feel his touch upon her shoulder. In one drawer were the parchment passports, some of them, for convenience, already signed with Visconti's name. Hastily Valentine thrust three into the bosom of her dress. But where were the palace keys? She turned over the drawers in reckless haste; she found Visconti's seal and one of his signet rings, and slipped them both into her gown--still she could not find the keys. The Duke's pass-keys that unlocked every door.