Around his waist was a gold belt suspending, by a jeweled chain, an orange stuck with cloves and enclosed in a case of silver filigree. Count Conrad also wore ear-rings, pearl drops that shimmered through his blond curls, and on each wrist a bracelet; yet even this effeminacy could not altogether destroy a certain manliness that was the Count's, spite of an almost seeming wish to disallow it. Beside him, half-leaning through the window, was a youth of twenty, of that brilliant beauty too bright to last. He too was dressed more like an idle courtier of the Valois court than a fighting noble of the free cities, and the rare charm of his face was marred by the spoiled affectation of his manner. "Another war!" laughed Conrad. "I have done naught but fight since I left Germany. I am on the sick list." "Not when the war is of thine own seeking," said Vincenzo. "Because thou needs must fall in love with the Visconti's sister--as if there were not others as fair and far safer to woo!" Conrad crossed his legs and glanced critically at the taper points of his gold shoes. "'Tis not my wooing of Visconti's sister has caused war," he replied. "Thy brother-in-law----" "I beseech thee," cried Vincenzo petulantly, "leave me some little rest from mention of his name and wrongs! Ever since you rode into Ferrara some six days ago, there has been naught else talked of but Mastino, Mastino's wrongs, what we must do for Mastino--till I fair weary at the name!" "You would not risk your all to glut his vengeance?" remarked the Count. "None the less his wife is your sister, and a d'Este." "No need for the heroics he makes over her, even so. Visconti will not hurt her, yet we must be hurried into war for it, forsooth!" "I owe Della Scala my life," returned Conrad airily. "I should be the last to speak; still, my wrongs are as many and as deep. I love the Lady Valentine. _I_ have lost my land and my jewels, my house and servants, yet I am quite ready to settle in some other part of Italy--and forget Visconti. _I_ do not go about trying to entice other people into _my_ quarrels." He sniffed at his orange as he spoke, and breaking off the end of the myrtle, stuck it in his belt. Vincenzo's beautiful eyes flashed. "Art thou a poltroon then?" he cried scornfully. "Loved I a lady and she were kept from me, I would not rest while a stone of the palace that held her remained one on the other." Conrad raised his eyebrows, startled at the sudden change of front. "Then you should understand Mastino," he said. "I hate Mastino. He is wearisome," cried Vincenzo, pettishly. "Still, I do not love a laggard." Conrad's reply was checked. Ippolito d'Este had arisen and was calling them to join him. Reluctantly they rose, Vincenzo with a yawn of distaste, and approached the table. Ippolito frowned at Vincenzo's face. "You would spend all your time in idleness, it seems," he said. "Have you no interest then in our decision as to the aid Della Scala asks?"