"With only a small injury," he said, "since 'tis not the hand I paint with." And now Graziosa broke in with passionate exclamations of pity for his wound, or admiration for his courage, covering the injured hand with caresses. "Thou hast recovered it--by force?" asked Agnolo again, incredulous. "Call it by force or what thou wilt," returned Ambrogio. "There is no need to speak of it more. It is enough you are in no danger. No one will follow me here to regain it." Graziosa kissed her recovered treasure and clasped it on her arm again. "I shall never dare to wear it save within these walls," she said. Ambrogio took her hand in his, and led toward the house. "Do not fear, sweet," he returned, looking down at her with a smile. "Wear it where and how thou wilt. Tisio Visconti will not annoy thee more." The girl glanced up, startled by the authority of his manner. Ambrogio, noticing the questioning look, turned it aside with a pleasant laugh. "The Duke is tired of his whims, and is putting him under a closer watch," he said. "From now on he will not often ride the streets." "I am sorry for him," said Graziosa impulsively. "I am very sorry for him." They were at the house door, and Agnolo, stepping ahead into the dark entrance, led the way up a flight of shallow wooden stairs. "This is stirring news, Ambrogio," he called over his shoulder. "About the Duke of Verona's escape, I mean. Do you think there will be war?" "I am a man of peace," returned Ambrogio softly, his eyes on Graziosa. "How should I know? Still, I do not think Della Scala will trouble the peace of Milan much." And now Agnolo, at the top of the flight of stairs, was holding open a wide door through which they passed into Agnolo's workshop, filled with the pleasant litter of his occupation. "I do not agree with thee," he said. "Della Scala's is a great name. Were I Visconti, I should not feel secure." Graziosa and Ambrogio entered the long room, high and light, its windows opening wide onto the street. And Ambrogio, seating himself near one of the large easels, turned to Agnolo, the while he drew Graziosa gently down beside him. "What has the Duke of Milan to fear from Della Scala?" he asked. "Everything," cried Vistarnini excitedly, for keenly did the little painter love to air his views. "Everything. Mark me, Ambrogio, if the Duke of Verona do not suddenly fall on one of Visconti's towns." "He has no army," said the student. "He cannot rouse the d'Estes." "He will!" cried Agnolo. "He will--he and Count Conrad. Didst thou not rejoice, Ambrogio, when Count Conrad escaped? We heard of it from the soldiers. Graziosa was glad at heart, as every man or woman or child must be. Such a fate! Didst thou not rejoice he had escaped it?" Ambrogio was mixing colors in a china saucer, and tapped his foot a little impatiently. "Why should we talk of Della Scala--and Visconti?" he said.