The seal and the parchment were much--but the keys would be everything. They were not within the bureau; she rifled them once again--no, they were not there. She turned away in vexation, and stood a second irresolute. These rooms deserted, yet so full of their owner, were terrifying. Valentine was sick with fear--still, she must have those keys. Hastily she turned over every article in the room, left as Visconti had left them--books, papers, ornaments. There were no keys there. She looked into the antechamber, that was bare and empty; she knew it too well to suppose what she sought could be hidden there. In desperation she retraced her steps and stood again within the second room. An impulse made her lift the arras, and she beheld another door; and another still; they were either side Visconti's empty seat. She tried one: it opened immediately on a black marble stairway, and she closed it again with a thrill. Desperately, she opened the other door; held to her courage desperately, and crossed the threshold. The room was paneled in black and scarlet, floor and ceiling inlaid with gold and black. A great mirror hung opposite the door; either side a table, covered with a collection of articles left in utter confusion. Valentine turned them over in frantic haste; there were laces and rings, jewels and curios, gloves, and strangely carved bottles. She handled the last carefully--she knew not what they might contain. Still there were no keys. Valentine, fast losing nerve, felt that she had been in these rooms for hours, the silence and suggestion oppressed her till she could have screamed--but she had risked too much to retreat. There was an inlaid bureau, and a coffer beneath it; she opened the bureau and sought again; rings, daggers, treasures from Della Scala's collections, uncut gems, powders, scents, rosaries, charms, missals--only no hint of what she looked for. On top of the coffer was a roll of drawings, the plans of the new church, several parchments, petitions, specimens of marble from the new quarries, carvings, mail gauntlets--Valentine swept them off on to the floor, and then threw the coffer open. It was full of clothes--upon the velvet of the topmost mantle lay the small bunch of master-keys. Valentine grasped it, and hid it in the little pocket at her side. She had all she needed now, and was turning in relief to go, when, struck by another thought, she bent again over the coffer, lifted the contents out on to the floor. Visconti's doublets were mostly too splendid for her purpose, but she seized the plainest, wrapped it in her mantle, snatched one of the daggers from the table. Then making rapidly through the rifled room, with a breathless prayer of gratitude for safety, she stealthily pushed open the door on to the balcony, and saw the sunlight and her page's eager face. "Shut the door," she whispered. "Climb up and shut the top bolt." The boy obeyed. "No one has been?" "No, lady; you have been quick."