"Ah--but I cannot ask her. If I could--Ligozzi, if I could go to her and look into her eyes, and say 'I promised, give me back my promise, for only on terms thou wouldst spurn can I save thee,' she would understand--she would die with a smile, as I should--and that I could do. But to let her die a slow death--a dishonored death! Wilt thou remember it is Visconti! His lies in her ears--knowing nothing of my struggles! thinking herself forsaken, yet hoping against hope, and ever coming to her belief I would not let it be, till one day it was! Ah! I cannot do it! I cannot do it!" He threw himself on the chair again and hid his face. "She loves me," he said brokenly. "It seems strange, Ligozzi--that she should--care--for me. God knows, I have no charm such as Visconti has. I cannot please, I am clumsy and uncouth compared to those she had around her--and yet she chose me. 'While thou art alive I fear nothing,' were the last words I heard her say, and I shall leave her to curse the day she met and trusted me to save her from a villain. What commonest foot soldier I have would leave the woman that he loves to die Visconti's way? Ah, Heaven have mercy! For what crime is this a punishment!" "Then you will accept these terms for her release?" said Ligozzi. "I will plead with you no more, my lord--only, if you do this thing, I, who am your faithful servant, I, who ever loved and worshiped you, can serve you no longer--it is too terrible a thing--I cannot stay and see it done!" Mastino's head was bent forward, his hands clenched so tightly that the flesh was broken, his whole attitude so hopeless in its agony that Ligozzi feared for his reason. "Oh, my lord!" he cried passionately, and flung himself on his knees by Mastino's side. "Oh, my dear, dear lord! Thou wilt choose the noble part, I know! Thou wilt not let Visconti triumph, for this is all a devilish plot to make thee dishonored, to make thee betray thy trust--foil him--say no!" Mastino made no answer, and Ligozzi too lapsed into silence, rising from his knees softly.... How hot it was, how hot! Ligozzi felt dizzy--he wished the sun would cease blazing down--he wished Della Scala would move--had he persuaded him? Mastino raised his head. "Bring them back," he said slowly, "I will see them now." Ligozzi's heart beat high. "He has won--over himself at least he has a victory!" he thought--but looking on Della Scala's haggard face, he ventured no speech. Mastino sat erect--his hands on the table in front of him, his eyes on the floor. Visconti's envoys entered. Giannotto, glancing at Mastino and then at Ligozzi keenly, saw that there Visconti had an adverse advocate. But the strained silence on them all was hard to break. They were uneasy, like men before a great grief, or in the presence of one about to die--it was difficult to treat the matter as an ordinary one, or to ask a decision from that tortured man before them.