But the Estes' hope was still in Della Scala. Urgent messages were sent to his camp outside Milan, and when neither answer nor messengers returned, the Duke of Modena grew sick at heart indeed. He had not mentioned all his fears to his son, though Vincenzo could not but know their strait desperate. "If we hear not to-day," said d'Este slowly, "I shall think there is treachery; not one messenger has returned--treachery, or some misfortune to Della Scala." "Then are we lost indeed!" cried Vincenzo. "So far from Modena--so near Milan--only, what of the army that is with Della Scala--our army, his and ours?" "What army we had with us," replied Ippolito, still looking with anxious eyes on the level country, "I sent to Della Scala--he was in sore need. What men we had outside the town have melted away like snow." Vincenzo began to pace the room impulsively--a slender figure in a scarlet velvet doublet, his great black eyes bright and angry. "Shall we not make a sortie, my father? Shall we not dash out and fight, seeing for ourselves what has become of Della Scala?" Ippolito turned and looked at him, with a yearning love lighting his dark face. "I am waiting, Vincenzo. I have sent trusty scouts to Brescia. This silence cannot last long now; either Mastino or Visconti march this way--and in either case we shall be ready to receive them, Vincenzo." The younger d'Este lapsed into silence. Ippolito, too, was quiet, and the pause was broken by an officer entering. "The Count von Schulembourg," he began. "Conrad!" cried Vincenzo, springing up. "Has he news?" asked his father, eagerly. "I know not, my lord," replied the soldier. "He is riding unattended, and craves a passage through the town." "He is riding away!" said Vincenzo--"away from Milan!" "I must see him," said d'Este, with a darkening face, "at once." As the soldier left, Vincenzo looked at his father eagerly. "What may this mean, that Count Conrad rides away?" "We lie on the route to the Empire. The German maybe rides home from a losing cause." "I never thought such of Conrad," began Vincenzo, when the door opened and the Count himself stepped into the room, brilliant, gay as ever, well armed, the double-headed eagle on his breastplate, and the black and yellow of the Empire floating from his helm. "Now well met, my good lords," he cried, "and fair fortune smile on you! I would ask the favor of a good horse--I am on my way to Germany." "You leave the fight?" asked d'Este. Conrad nodded. "For better men--i' faith, I've tried all I know--no man is asked to break his head against a brick wall for nothing--not while the sun shines, and there is such a place as his own land to see again!" "You used not to hold such language, Conrad," said Vincenzo, with some reproach.