No one else broke the silence, all stood still as if spell-bound; it was a horrible, horrible thing, and they drew back from the door--afraid. "Hush!--what was that?" Visconti leaned forward fearfully. "What was it?" The sound of some one on the balcony. Visconti's face went livid. "He is alive----" A horrid shudder ran through them all. De Lana strove to speak and could not. "The door is not fastened," whispered Visconti, hoarsely. "Fasten the door--some one!" But no one moved, no one dared, for superstitious horror. Something fell back from the door, then the sound of something that dragged itself against it painfully, then a rattle at the unbolted door. "He is not dead!" half screamed Visconti. "A town to the man who will go out and slay him!" No one moved. "A half-dead man!" cried the Duke, "and no one will end his misery?" They dared not. "Hark! he will have the door open. De Lana, I command you----" He pointed with a shaking hand, but de Lana only shook his head. "There has too much been done already," he said, shudderingly. The Duke looked round wildly. "A town, a fortune to the one who will have compassion"; and with a shrug and a grimace, a rough soldier stepped forward, his drawn sword in his hand, and opening the door, pushed something back before him and went out. Gian breathed heavily, listening, but the next second the soldier was in the room again, with altered face, and the door ajar behind him. "I cannot," he gasped--"it's blind, struggling--it--does not look like a man--I----" "Shut the door!" yelled Visconti, and then fell back against de Lana, shaking, for a livid face appeared, with dim eyes and a bare throat streaked with blood. For one moment the ghastly apparition showed there, then fell into the dark again. There was a sickening pause. Visconti spoke first, looking around. "Are we fools or women?--he came to murder me, and he is slain--what is there in that? Go and see now if he be dead." Some one went, fearfully. "He lies very still, my lord; he is dead----" The trembling pages had brought more lights, and light was life to Visconti. He came forward and looked, a little nearer, on the figure in the doorway, but very slowly, with de Lana between. Mastino lay out straight, in a sudden up-flare from the burning city, his arm flung over his face. "He was a giant," whispered Visconti, fearfully. "And how dark!--I do not remember him so dark----" He looked over de Lana's shoulder at him. The soldiers peered behind him. That man was Mastino della Scala once!--it was strange even to their cold hearts. He was dead--_dead_! Visconti's fear, the superstitious fear of a righteous, God-sent vengeance, turned to a savage joy; still he was afraid, still afraid. He touched the body with the point of his gold shoe. "Throw him into the garden," he said to the soldiers, showing his teeth. Giannotto and de Lana exchanged a curious glance; the soldier set his lips.