Mastino raised his head and looked out on it. What was Gian Visconti planning now? He had some faint foreboding--a secret embassy from Milan--and following so swiftly on that last crushing blow; following so swiftly as to come upon him still helpless from it--what had it to say, and to his ears alone? He had some faint foreboding as he sat there. But it was not long. Ligozzi, exercising due precaution, returned with the two Milanese. Giannotto stepped forward with a smooth obeisance, but stopped, a little surprised at the one occupant of the tent--the tall man with the proud dark face. "My lord--the Prince?" he asked. "I am Della Scala," said Mastino, and he turned to de Lana who looked an obvious soldier, and the worthier of the two. "Your errand, sir? I would hear you quickly." "We have greetings from our lord, the Duke of Milan," replied de Lana, his speech and bearing uneasy, like one trying to gain time. He had always disliked his mission, and never more so than now, standing face to face with Della Scala. Here was some one very different from the man he had expected, and it tended to confuse him. Della Scala's dignity was his own, not that of pomp and splendor, the terror of crime, or the dazzle of power, that made Visconti feared and obeyed. As plainly attired as any of his soldiers, Mastino overawed the Milanese with something new to them--the sense of worth. They were not trained to dealings with it. "Greetings from Gian Visconti, Duke of Milan," took up the secretary. "Moreover, we bring terms of peace for your acceptance, my lord." Mastino was silent a space, and Ligozzi, standing behind his chair, looked at them with an ill-concealed abomination that Giannotto's quick eyes noticed keenly. "My lord, is the one with you to be trusted even as yourself?" he asked, submissively. "For our mission, Prince, is secret." "He is my friend," said Mastino, shortly. "And now these terms of peace?" "The Duke is weary of the war," said de Lana. "He hath powerful allies, my lord." "And the choice of means to crush me," interposed Mastino, his bright eyes fell on the speaker, "are in his hands, you would say? Perhaps; and yet, messer, I ask for no quarter from Gian Visconti." De Lana bowed. "Nor could he offer it, my noble lord; only terms as between equals." Mastino smiled bitterly. "That is generous in Gian Visconti, seeing we are not--equals." Giannotto wished the Duke could have heard both words and tone. Visconti's birth was a sore point with him. The secretary wondered if there might be found a safe way of repeating them. De Lana flushed a little under Mastino's steady gaze and quiet scorn of the master who had sent him. "The Duke of Milan sends by us this," he said, and laid the parchment before Mastino. "These are his terms, my lord." But Della Scala did not drop his eyes to it. "What are these terms?" he said. "They are set forth there, my lord," began Giannotto.