"Outside the walls just now we found a ghastly thing," said a second voice: "a human hand grasping tight a knot of scarlet ribbons--just the hand, a beautiful hand." "Your tales sicken me--I have always hated horrors," said Visconti. Mastino crept along and found a door. "I will get in here," he said within himself; and then within himself he laughed, for it was opened. The tapestry within was moved aside, and there was a glimpse of a white sleeve and a delicate, ringed hand. The next moment the curtain was torn, in a giant's grip, from its fastening, and Mastino, trampling it under him, was upon them--in his madness staying to reckon on no odds. Where was Visconti? Not far, for he himself, with his own hand, had opened the door. But from the red glare outside, the blaze within blinded Della Scala. He looked round him for Visconti. Then a voice screamed: "Keep him off!" and suddenly his eyes met the Duke's, and he strode forward. It seemed almost done. Visconti, in wild fear, fell back before that terrible face, staggering against the wall, his hand fumbling for his dagger, and the men in the room scattered to right and left, as before an apparition. "Gentlemen!" shrieked Visconti, "you are ten to one: stop him! A fortune for the one who slays him!" But Mastino had him in his grip--almost: another moment---- But Visconti fell, and crouched along the wall, those reaching hands above him; and a dozen swords leaped out: the soldiers flocked in from the ante-room: there was a wild confusion. "Slay him!" shrieked Visconti. But from Della Scala, as they closed on him, came a yell that froze the marrow. Ten to one! They needed to be. The place began to run with blood. "Gian Visconti! Gian Visconti!" Visconti rose by the wall again. "Kill him!" he gasped. "Kill him!" and cowered away. He was not sure if that face or that figure, struggling ever toward him, could be killed; that they were earthly, or that that was the voice of a man that, with no sound of the human left in it, called his name. "Let them kill him!" screamed Visconti. But de Lana did not move, he did not look round; neither did Visconti. "Visconti! Visconti!" gasped the voice.... Ah!... There was a great scuffling of feet, the dragging of a heavy body, and Mastino, an inert mass upon the soldiers' arms, was forced back upon the balcony. They let him fall there, and one heard him moan; but he was bleeding from twenty wounds. They left him and closed the door. Visconti looked round fearfully. "Is he gone?" he said. The great candelabra had been overturned and the room was in a semi-gloom, broken only by the dim candles in their sconces and the fitful flare from the city. No one answered Visconti. The men drew breath in silence, and looked at their wounds. How he had fought! A horror fell upon them. "Is he dead?" asked Visconti, shaking like a leaf. "There were fifteen men to kill him", said de Lana, and he wiped some blood from his hand with a shiver.