The sound of bells penetrated even into the hushed interior of the church. As the service ended and Valentine rose to her feet, she heard them burst into wild music; the dim, incensed air seemed troubled by their triumphant throb, the gold tapestry to shake with it. "Is it another victory?" murmured Valentine. The church had emptied, she was alone in it save for two ladies kneeling motionless. The monks swept out, with a swinging of incense and a low chanting. One only remained, putting out candles about the altar. Valentine closed her missal and turned to leave. The sun was streaming through the gold and opal window in a dazzling shaft of light, it fell over her face and blinded her for a second. The next, she looked round to see the solitary monk behind her. His head was hidden in his cowl, his arms folded, he passed her without looking up. "Count Conrad is in Milan," he said, under his breath, and silently and swiftly he was gone. Valentine, hardly believing she had heard aright, gazed after him wildly, then collecting herself, walked down the aisle, her brain on fire. Her ladies rose, in waiting, and under no excuse could she prolong her stay. "Count Conrad is in Milan!" Did that mean that he would rescue her yet--was it Conrad himself who spoke? The thought was grateful to her sore, angry heart. She had not much confidence in Count Conrad's skill nor his chances of success--still, he was in Milan, he cared enough to have risked that, and she could wait. After the dim church the sun was blinding, the crash of the bells deafening. Valentine mounted her horse with a throbbing heart; that whisper in the church had given her new life. The soldiers formed up either side, behind and before; it would not have been possible for her to drop even her glove unnoticed. She was riding the streets of Milan as her brother's trophy, as his prisoner; every one of those who bowed so humbly to her as she passed, every peasant her guards thrust back from her path, was freer than she. San' Apollinare was far from the palace, and for that reason Visconti had chosen it. All Milan should see her ride to offer thanksgiving for his victories. "Surely there is more good news," said Costanza, as they crossed the bridge that spanned the canal; "the air is full of rejoicing, and I have seen many messengers spur past." Valentine set her teeth, and looked between the spears of her escort at the bright blue water beneath them. All the craft that covered its surface were gay with flags, its depth reflected buildings hung with the banners of the Viper. "It fills the very air we breathe," shuddered Valentine, "the shadow of the Viper." Costanza glanced at her. "I must confess," she replied, "I should be proud an it were my bearing. To be a Visconti on such a day as this would please me well; and though I am your friend, madama, I must say it."