His own narrow escape of a moment since had tied up Giannotto's tongue. "It will not be hard to discover," said Visconti. "Some one who did not bribe Luisa high enough." "Mastino della Scala lives," he read again. He handed the parchment back to the secretary. "Let the Lady Isotta have it," he said. "It may keep her alive. It looks to me that she may die, Giannotto, of the bad air and the confinement," and he smiled. "I would certainly not have her death. Give her the parchment." And he handed the parchment back, dismissing Giannotto with the gesture. Clearly Visconti was in a mood that held neither comment nor reward, but one the secretary was glad to escape from so easily. With a deep obeisance he departed. "Who bribes the woman to comfort Isotta d'Este? The soldiers are to be trusted," mused Visconti. "Once I know I will remember it." He drew from his doublet the velvet gloves of turquoise hue and laid them on the table. They were beautiful in their perfect workmanship, huge gauntlets fringed with pearl and gold, and tasseled at the points with rubies. On the back was a rich design also in pearl and gold, and they were lined with white satin, covered in fine silk lace. Truly they were a work of art. Visconti raised them delicately by the tassels and looked long at their rich blue, admiringly, and with a curious expression. CHAPTER ELEVEN MASTINO DELLA SCALA In the council chamber of the Estes' summer palace at Ferrara were gathered the heads of the reigning families of Lombardy. At a long table, set across one end of the apartment, two men were seated talking to one another in low voices. They were Ippolito d'Este and Giacomo Carrara, Duke of Padua. D'Este, a stern, gray-haired man of fifty or so, with keen eyes and a hard mouth, was talking rapidly, tapping the while his fingers nervously upon the table. Carrara, florid, pleasant-mannered, with brilliant black eyes, black hair, and a ready smile, leaned forward and listened, observing him keenly. Opposite them, but the length of the table away, a lady with tired eyes and a patient mouth leaned back in her chair, motionless, watching the trees seen through the window. She was Julia Gonzaga, the representative in this gathering in the name of her infant nephew, of the city of Mantua and its domains, the head of the fourth and last great family of Lombardy who dared to raise a hand against the encroachments and the power of Visconti. But if at this end of the chamber the only sound was low converse, all subdued and quiet, at the farther end gay voices and bursts of laughter broke the stillness. For seated in the broad window-seat, toying with a sprig of myrtle, was Count Conrad, brilliant and light-hearted, clad in the last extreme of fashion, resplendent in primrose velvet and mauve silk, with long scalloped sleeves that swept the ground.