"Another wedding gift!" he cried in ringing tones, and struck Visconti full upon the breast. Then an utter confusion fell upon Count Conrad. He was seized and pinioned tight amid wild yells, while the dagger, glancing off the armor beneath the soft rose-colored velvet, fell on the steps unheeded. "Count Conrad?" said Visconti clearly through the babble of voices. "Conrad von Schulembourg?" "Aye," said Conrad wildly, struggling between the two soldiers who held him. "Complete your triumph, Visconti. I would have killed you; kill me--kill me! You tried before and failed. I have tried and I fail. End it." He would have added more defiances, but the soldiers hauled him roughly back, and choked the words back into his throat. "Count Conrad?" asked Valentine, in a clear tone. "Did he say Count Conrad?" Visconti motioned to d'Orleans. "Take the Duchess on, my lord. I will remain and deal with this crazy friar." "Surely he needs but little dealing with!" said the Frenchman. "An assassin! there is the gallows ready!" "There is also your wedding procession waiting," returned Visconti quietly, and he motioned the train onward, and Conrad forward, the eager people in the street all straining every nerve to know what might have happened; appeased by the oncoming train, they gave only half a thought to the little knot pressed round the steps, and what the Duke had paused for. Conrad stood between his guards, with a flushed face and a proud bearing. He would have liked to kiss his hand to Valentine, stepping into her gorgeous litter, looking back with half-awakened eyes; but his hands were held firmly, and his feet lashed together. "Well, Visconti," he said, with a still higher carriage of his head, "what is it this time--starvation or the rack?" Visconti made no answer: he was looking down at the flowers on the steps. "Take those away," he said to a page, and pointed to a spray of white roses. The boy obeyed, and glanced at his companions, wondering. "Saint Hubert!" cried Conrad, with a sudden laugh. "You are full of whims as of old! How long must I wait for my death, at your good pleasure, my lord?" The Duke turned his eyes on him. "You are strangely foolish," he said, and hesitated, looking at Conrad with a moody face. "Foolish indeed, or I had never been Visconti's friend!" retorted Conrad. "Foolish--or I had never trusted to this friendship. But call me also bold, my lord, to be here now, buying with my life the pleasure of saying so!" "The impudent German!" murmured a lady in Visconti's ear. "Heaven has given your lordship even this--to crown your perfect triumph." The Duke was still silent: he looked from Conrad to the crowd, shouting, throwing up their hats to see the procession pass, and then to the soldiers, wondering at this strange hesitation. "Why did you come to Milan?" he asked at last, fingering the gold tassels on his sleeve, and speaking slowly.