At first keenly anxious, straining for every sound, as time went on, unconsciously they grew more at ease, and Conrad beguiled Tomaso with his talk. At last, with a sudden sigh, Conrad broke off, and lapsed into silence. Tomaso sat alert, looking through the open door. "Francisco is long," said Conrad after a while. He was dressed in the leather doublet of a peasant, coarse and plain, yet very different from the rough attire Francisco wore. He was very handsome, of a sunny, pleasant expression, a quality rarely found among the Italians of Lombardy; and to-day, although prepared for flight, his blond curls were as carefully arranged as though he still shone at the court of Milan. "Messer Francisco is long," he remarked again, and Tomaso turned with a start. "He has doubtless met with unexpected difficulty, lord," he said with some reproach. "Horses must be found--somewhere--for our journey to-night. Every hour we stay here is dangerous." "My heart misgives me that I did not accompany him," said Conrad; "we should all four have kept together." "Doubtless too many would have hampered him," was the reply. Tomaso did not add, as he might have done, that Francisco had his doubts of Conrad's discretion, and had left Tomaso charged to see he committed no rashness in his absence. "Thinkest thou he will get the horses?" continued the Count, twirling his curls through his fingers. "Let us hope he will try naught so mad as that attempt on the walls of Milan we made two days ago! The saints preserve us! but I thought it was all over with us! That was a fine race--tearing through the dark with Visconti's soldiers at our heels!" Tomaso was hurt at the flippant tone that reflected on Francisco's judgment. "It was a gallant attempt," he said, "and all but succeeded; once within the town, we might have done much." "And so might Visconti," remarked Conrad airily. "Thou art young, Tomaso, or thou wouldst see how worse than useless was such a mad escapade." "Something had to be done," returned Tomaso, "this inaction was maddening Messer Francisco." Conrad smiled and changed the subject. "Who _is_ this Francisco, thinkest thou?" he asked. "For a mere servitor at Della Scala's court, he bears a mighty hatred to Visconti." "He served the Prince, and lost his master and his all in the sack of Verona. It is not strange he should wish to revenge Della Scala's wrongs and his own." "I think him of better birth and station than he claims," said the Count judicially. "He has the bearing of one gently born." "I take him for what he calls himself," the boy replied. "I owe him my life. I would die to serve him, nor would I question him." "But would remind me that I owe him something too?" laughed Conrad. "When the time comes to show it, I shall not prove ungrateful." He seated himself on the table, and idly swinging his legs, looked around the hut with lazy distaste and seemed to think of dozing.