"Spare the churches," said Visconti, "and see that all relics are brought with due honor to Milan. Da Ribera, you ventured furthest into Novara; saw you any churches?" "One, my lord, is saved: the church of Santa Claire." "We tried to rescue the monks----" struck in Martin della Torre. "They refused our succor, and returned into the flames--screaming----" He paused. "What?" demanded Visconti. "Somewhat about God's curse," answered della Torre. "Their execration was not pleasant." "Had you not been there, you had not heard it," said de Lana. "And a few crazy----hark!" There came a great noise from without, and the trampling of crowding feet. "Another company is joining us," remarked Visconti. "The soldiers from Novara," said della Torre, and put his goblet down, and de Lana turned expectantly to the door. Visconti, facing it, rose in his seat as it was flung wide and a couple of scorched and bleeding soldiers entered, followed by a trampling guard. "From Novara?" asked the Duke. They stopped short, saluting. "From Novara! We have saved the library and the college, my lord, and some three palaces." "They would have burned the library!" cried Visconti, "sooner than it should enrich Milan--the jealous fools!" "Now, hark you"--he added to the soldiers--"every man bringing a book or a gem or a picture, I reward; every man destroying one, I hang. Now, which is he who saved the library?" An officer pushed forward. "This is he, my lord; one of my company." "Take this from me," and Visconti handed the man his neck chain. "And the prisoners, my lord?" "What care I for the prisoners?--you will give no quarter, I say!" The officer bowed, and drew a little book from his doublet, laying it on the table. "A monk gave me this for his life," he said. "And all Lombardy knows your taste in books, my lord." "Remember we league with the Pope," said Visconti, taking it up. "The monk should have had his life without a bribe; now go, and heed what I have said." He turned to de Lana: "Follow, and see if the flames be out; 'tis daylight." The curtains were drawn away from the window, and the early light, fast glowing into sunlight, and the fresh morning air, filled the heated chamber. The lamps flared pale, the gorgeous dresses and flushed, eager faces of the men round the table, the glimmer of the gold and silver vessels before them, showed in a garish contrast with the soft light. "Seneca," said Visconti, turning over the volume the soldier had brought. "Where is that knave Giannotto? Seneca, spoiled by interlining, but still Seneca. Giannotto--I say!" The secretary was not in the room, but the page dispatched soon brought him. He stood in the doorway, blinking at the daylight, looking around confused, and the company broke into laughter. "Take this!" cried Visconti. "A Seneca on vellum, with some dolt's comments; take it, Giannotto." "There is a library being brought in below," said the secretary.