There was a clatter of footsteps and the noise of a great entry. "Silence!" said Visconti. "'Tis Arezzo, I hear his voice." The door was again thrown wide, this time upon a splendid cavalier, clad in magnificent armor, shining beneath his travel-stained scarlet cloak. "Success rest upon your helm, Visconti, for Lombardy to Belluno is yours!" He swept his cap off, and stood, flushed and panting, before the eager, excited company, who rose to a man. "Modena?" asked Visconti. "And Mantua?" "Yours," said Guido d'Arezzo. "And of Ferrara I myself received the keys, and rode post-haste to Milan, through a country that dared not raise a finger, where even the nobles came uncovered to my stirrup; and so from thence I followed you here--with these as proof of my success." He stepped aside, showing a glimpse of the disordered room beyond, and beckoned to one of the men behind him, taking two great standards from him. "This as a proof--the banner of the Gonzagas, the standard of the d'Estes!" He dropped to one knee and laid them at Visconti's feet, both bloodstained, torn to rags, the bearings beaten from their surface; still, the flags that had floated from Modena and Mantua. The company burst into wild shouts, mad with the intoxication of success, and Visconti raised Arezzo and placed him beside him at the table, the banners at his feet. "Thou hast done splendidly," he cried. "On our side too there is fortune--Mastino della Scala will trouble us no more!" "Dead!" cried the general. "Dead!" "He lies yonder in the garden." With smiling lips Visconti pointed through the open window. "He was killed last night!" "The last of the Scaligeri! Then Lombardy is yours indeed!" "From Vercelli to Belluno!" cried de Lana. "I shall not forget those who helped me," said Visconti, and called for wine and himself served Arezzo. "I will prove I am no niggard to my friends--your health, Arezzo!" The name of the victorious captain was shouted down the table; only Giannotto was silent, seated in the window-seat, and the Duke's eyes fell on him. "Give the rogue there some wine," he laughed. "Have no fears, Giannotto, I will remember thee, there are palaces enough to loot. Thou shalt have the pickings of one. Drink!" he added in a sterner tone, as the secretary refused the wine with muttered excuses. "Take it, and warm thy frozen blood, or we will find somewhat will do it better." The secretary took the goblet, but so gripping the glass that the slender stem snapped, and the liquid ran red over the black and white floor, like a trail of fresh blood. "The cellars are not so full that we can spare good wine," said da Ribera. But Visconti laughed, and pulling the map again toward him, pointed out the march to Arezzo; and the secretary was forgotten, cowering in gloomy aloofness.