Graziosa, her hand held lightly by the Duke, was following him down the steps, her pages behind, and Visconti kept his eyes upon his sister. There was a meaning pause, and d'Orleans grew restless in the silence and moved away. Valentine sent after him a look of bitter scorn, then walked slowly up to Graziosa and saluted her humbly, though her eyes were burning brightly. Visconti watched them keenly, and noticed with displeasure how crushed and silent Graziosa showed before his brilliant sister: she shrank into herself, as if she divined the scorn Valentine concealed, and could scarce stammer a few words of greeting in reply. "I must back to the palace, Graziosa," said Visconti, as they reached the garden, and his eyes roved over the crowd of attendants for Giannotto's figure. "Remember these are all at thy commands--and, for the present, then farewell." To Valentine he said nothing, but turned away toward the palace with the secretary. Graziosa looked after him, a little pained; she had noticed he was always different when his sister was there. Valentine had noticed it too, and guessed the cause, and the knowledge gave a triumph to her beauty that made it dazzling indeed. "I fear I interrupted your discourse," she said with another curtsey. "Indeed no, lady," replied Graziosa, timidly. "Will you not come within with me from the sun?" "Nay, that were too much of an honor," said Valentine. "Are you not my brother's promised wife--and the savior of Milan?" "I pray you, do not speak of it--I--I----" answered Graziosa hurriedly. Valentine lifted her brows and opened her gray eyes wide. "Do not speak of it? Why, 'tis a deed to be proud of--even when so well rewarded, lady." Graziosa flushed under the mock in her tone, and turned to one of her ladies. "We will go in--alone--since the Princess will not come," she said. "Come and walk in the garden, madama," said Valentine. "At least it seems like liberty--there will be little enough of that when you are Duchess of Milan." Graziosa, looking at her with frightened eyes, joined her meekly, having not the spirit to refuse. "Now, bid your ladies back a pace--at least Gian will allow us that," and Valentine motioned them away. "What do you mean?" faltered Graziosa, with a pang of something like envy, as she noticed the grace and dignity of Valentine's bearing, and the superb carriage of her queenly head. Valentine shrugged her white shoulders and laughed bitterly. "Many things--among them this--get yourself a better tirewoman and you will keep Visconti longer--learn a little spirit and you will keep him longer still." Graziosa glanced down at her dress, the richer of the two, but worn with no such grace. "'Tis no question of my dress, lady," she answered, with some dignity--"nor of beauty--but of love alone."